LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 






A VOICE AS SOFT AS A SUMMER BREEZE AND YET DIS- 
TINCT SPOKE TO HIM OUT OF THE SILENCE: “mY SON, 
FOLLOW ME; THE PATH OF DUTY LIES IN THESE HILLS.” 






THE CALL OF 
THE HILLS 



Marshall Benjamin Van Leer 

li 




dtnctnnatt : 

JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 

EATON AND MAINS 





Copyright, 1913, 

By Jennings and Graham 






A 0 S 4 9 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MY FAITHFUL FRIEND 
AND KIND CRITIC 



CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. The Coming of the Schoolmaster, 
II. The First Day of School, 

III. The Apple Peeling, - - - 

IV. A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s, 

V. A Declaration of Love, - 

VI. A Troublesome Director, 

VII. The Meeting at the Mill, 

VIII. Roxy’s Home, . - . - 

IX. Dark Days, ... - 

X. Bill Rupert’s Threat, - 
XI. A Voice from the Pit, 

XII. Roxy and Lou, . _ - . 

XI II. Jake Calls on the Teacher, 

XIV. John Swears Allegiance, 

XV. The Burning of the Schoolhouse, 
XVL Under a Cloud, . . - - 

XVI I . At the Old Mill, . - - 

XVIII. Foiled, 

XIX. The Silver Lining, 

XX. The Dawn of Better Things, 


Page 

9 

21 

33 

46 

58 

68 

81 

90 

106 

115 

123 

132 

146 

156 

167 

178 

191 

203 

218 

232 


THE CALL OF THE HILLS 




K 


CHAPTER I 


THE COMING OF THE SCHOOL- 
MASTER 

ATE In the afternoon of a beautiful 
September day, a heavy two-horse 
wagon went rumbling along a rocky 
road In the beautiful Ozark country 
of Missouri. Two men were riding In the 
spring seat, while behind them in the wagon 
box a trunk jostled heavily about. 

The man who did the driving was a big, 
husky-looking fellow ; dressed in a hickory shirt, 
jeans pants, a white, broad-brimmed hat, and 
coarse, high-top boots. He drove on, with his 
eyes resting listlessly on the team, taking no 
interest in the natural beauty around him. Un- 
like the driver, the other man, who was younger 
and seemed by manner and dress to be from 
a different world, took a lively interest in the 
rugged scenery. 



9 


10 


The Call of the Hills 


The road was a rocky, winding one, such as 
is common in the Ozarks. As the wagon rolled 
heavily over the stones it came to a sharp bend. 
The scene which lay before them caused the 
younger man to give vent to an expression of 
delight. 

“How beautiful I And is this the old Spring 
Creek Mill of which I have heard so much?” 

“Yep,” grunted his companion, without so 
much as looking up. As the horses waded out 
into the clear, sparkling water of Spring Creek, 
he pulled them down to a standstill and, climb- 
ing down from his seat, he walked out on the 
wagon tongue and loosened the bridle reins so 
the horses might drink. During the pause the 
young man was busy feasting his eyes on the 
wild beauty before him. 

On the edge of the little stream was an old- 
fashioned water mill; the water was rushing 
madly over its idle wheel and forming a white- 
capped whirlpool at its base. The mill was old 
and weather-beaten, and looked as if many years 
had passed since its days of usefulness. Just 
behind it rose a hill studded with protruding 


The Coming of the Schoolmaster 11 

rocks of large size and crowned with great oak 
trees. As the young man gazed upon the lonely 
but beautiful scene he little dreamed what a 
great part this old mill would play in his own 
life. 

The horses finished drinking, the driver 
again reined them up, climbed back into the seat, 
and they resumed the journey. As they left the 
little stream behind, the road turned to the right, 
so as to avoid ascending the hill, and wound up 
through the valley. After two or three miles 
had been slowly covered they began to ascend 
a long hill, at the foot of which a little spring 
gushed forth, giving life to a small stream 
which wended its way through field and wood- 
land to join Spring Creek. As they proceeded 
up the hill the young man saw a rude-looking 
log house about half way up, and when they 
arrived at this point the driver stopped his team 
and said, “Hayr ’s yer place, mister.” Getting 
down, he took the heavy trunk upon his back 
and transferred it to the porch. After receiv- 
ing a two-dollar bill for his services, and bidding 
the younger man good-bye, he got back into the 


12 


The Call of the Hills 


wagon and was soon gone. Before the man on 
the porch had time to knock, the door opened 
and a volley of words greeted him. 

“Howdy, mister; come right in and take 
a cheer. So you ’re the new skeul teacher, I 
’low. Wall, we ’re shore ’nuff tickled ter see ye, 
fer we Ve heered so much erbout ye.” 

Thus did Ray Jones, the new school teacher 
of Spring Creek school (for such was our new 
acquaintance) hear himself greeted by Mrs. 
Simpson, a short and rather fat woman of per- 
haps fifty years of age. 

“Mr. Cole writ ter Phil Nettles ter git ye 
a hordin’ place, so he come over hayr ter git us 
ter take ye. Phil sed Mr. Cole sed yer would n’t 
be hard ter please, so I tole him ter send yer on, 
an’ we ’d do the best we could fer ye.” 

This she was saying as she vigorously dusted ^ 
a chair with her apron and offered it to the 
teacher. 

“I ’low yer know Mr. Cole kep’ skeul hayr 
once,” she continued, without giving him a 
chance to speak. “We all tho’t a powerful site 
of him. He knowed a heap ’bout books, but he 


The Coming of the Schoolmaster 13 

never tried ter show off what he knowed; he 
wus jist as common as any of us folks on Spring 
Crick. It ’ll be mighty hard fer yer ter tak’ his 
place, fer we all loved him so.” 

She went on with a seriousness that made 
the new teacher somehow feel the power the old 
teacher had over these simple people of the hills. 
He knew and loved Mr. Cole himself, for he 
felt that he was a sincere man in all that he 
did; and in coming to these hills to teach he 
had come with an earnest desire to help the hill 
folks, and not to benefit himself financially by 
the salary that was promised for his services. 
As the new teacher thought of this, a certain 
sense of shame filled his soul, for his purpose 
in accepting the position as teacher was not the 
one that prompted the former teacher; he had 
to confess to himself that it was a rather selfish 
motive that had brought him to that community. 

He was just from a college, which he had 
been compelled to quit in the midst of his course 
on account of the lack of money. His father 
was a minister, serving a small charge in South- 
ern Illinois, and, of course, was unable to help 


14 


The Call of the Hills 


his son. Young Jones had an ambition to gain 
wealth and fame, and had decided to study law 
as the quickest and easiest way to realize his 
ambition. The meagerness of his father’s in- 
come, and the apparent carelessness of the 
Church in this respect, had caused this spirited 
young man to crush whatever desire he might 
have had to serve humanity, and had created 
within him a purpose to look out for his own 
interests, regardless of others. So he had come 
to teach the Spring Creek school for the sake 
of the salary which would help him in his strug- 
gle for the goal of his ambition. 

“Yer ’ll hav’ ter mak’ yerself ter hum, fer 
I Ve got ter see ’bout gittin’ supper,” said Mrs. 
Simpson, as she finally noticed that her guest 
seemed to be taken up with his own thoughts 
and was not paying much attention to her. One 
remark of the woman’s had strangely troubled 
the young man: “It ’ll be mighty hard fer yer 
ter tak’ his place, fer we all loved him so.” But 
what did he care how much they loved the for- 
mer teacher? It was not their love that he 
wanted, but their money. 


The Coming of the Schoolmaster 15 

Throwing aside these thoughts, the young 
man arose and went out on the porch. The sun 
had just dropped down behind the trees that 
crowned the hill on the other side of the valley ; 
the soft, pale light was gradually fading from 
the sky, and the shadows were deepening in the 
vale below. The day had been a warm one for 
September, but already the fresh, damp air from 
the little creek below was stealing up the hillside, 
giving one a feeling that autumn was near at 
hand. Insects were lazily droning their songs, 
and down on the bank of the stream a big bull- 
frog was lavishly spending his energy in an un- 
necessary effort to be heard above the rest. 
From somewhere on the hill above, the master 
heard the shrill voice of some one weirdly 
chanting something unintelligible to the tune of 
“Arkansaw Traveler.” As he listened the voice 
came nearer; and, peering into the twilight in 
the direction from whence the sound came, he 
saw the figure of a man approaching. As he 
caught sight of the master, the singing ceased, 
but the man came on up the path toward the 
porch. He slowly seated himself on the porch. 


16 


The Call of the Hills 


and the master took an inventory glance at him. 
He was clothed in the coarse, home-made cloth- 
ing which was customary for these men of the 
hills to wear; he was tall and loosely built. The 
face was what held one’s attention ; he could not 
have been more than twenty-one, and yet his' 
face showed signs of premature old age, it had 
such a worn, tired expression ; and the eyes were 
ever roving about, as if looking for some long- 
expected calamity. 

“I ’low yer ain’t seed the devil, hev’ ye?” 
It was a strange, weird voice that uttered these 
words, as the roving eyes looked at the teacher 
suspiciously. On receiving a negative reply he 
went on: “Wall, yer see the reason I ast, he ’s 
lookin’ fer me, an’ I ’m spendin’ my time keepin’ 
outer his way.” 

“What is your name?” asked the master, 
kindly. 

“The’ all call me Crazy Jake, but I ain’t 
crazy,” was the reply. “I ’m jist keepin’ outer 
the way o’ the devil, an’ thet ’s a good site 
more ’n the’re doin’ thet call me crazy. Mister 
Cole sed the devil never ketched them thet kep’ 


The Coming of the Schoolmaster 17 

outer his path, an’ I ’m tryin’ my best not ter 
git in hit. I wus ketched by him once, an’ I 
never want ter be agin. Hit wus down by the 
ole mill whar he got me. Him an’ his imps 
stays ’round there a heep at nights. Do n’t yer 
ever go down thar after dark, mister, fer he 
might git ye like he did me.” 

At this juncture in his oft-repeated experi- 
ence with the devil, Mrs. Simpson appeared in 
the doorway to announce supper. Seeing Jake, 
she said: “W’y, what air ye doin’ down hayr, 
Jake? Come ter see the new teacher, I ’low. 
How air ye an’ the devil makin’ hit these days'?” 

Then, without waiting for an answer from 
Jake, she turned to the teacher and said: “This 
is ole man Whiteside’s boy. The’ ’re neighboirs 
of ourn. Wall, supper ’s ready at las’. Come 
on in an’ eat, Jake.” She spoke this last to the 
latter as she saw him moving away. 

“Naw; I cain’t. I jist come down ter see 
Joe a little while.” And with that he shuffled 
off toward the barn. 

Ray followed his hostess into a long, low 
lean-to on the back of the log structure, which 


2 


18 


The Call of the Hills 


served as kitchen and dining-room combined. 
Here he was introduced to a buxom girl of 
nineteen, who blushed furiously as the elderly 
lady said: “This is my gal, Lou. My son Joe ’ll 
be in purty soon. He ain’t done his feedin’ yet, 
so we ’ll not wait on him. Take that cheer over 
there, teacher.” 

Ray obeyed, sat down in the chair indicated, 
and began to partake of the rough fare upon 
which these hill folks lived: bacon, potatoes, 
bread, coffee, and some home-canned fruit for 
dessert. As he ate he noticed with dissatisfac- 
tion the shy glances which Lou bestowed upon 
him. Mrs. Simpson talked all through the meal 
and only permitted him to speak in monosyl- 
lables when she was inquiring into some of his 
past life. As the meal was almost finished the 
door opened and a timid young man came in, 
whom the hostess introduced as her son Joe. 
He sat down to the table and began at once to 
devour the food, never speaking or looking up 
from his plate. 

After supper was over, the master arose and 
again went out on the porch. A big autumn 


The Coming of the Schoolmaster 19 

moon was just peeping over the eastern hill, and 
its silvery rays were slipping down the hillside 
into the valley, dispelling the shadows that a 
little while ago had hidden its beauty. Soon the 
whole valley seemed a wonderful fairyland as 
it became thoroughly saturated with the moon- 
light. For a long time the young man stood 
drinking in the mysterious beauty of the valley. 

“Yer bed ’s ready ef yer wanter go ter bed,” 
came a voice from the doorway. 

Ray turned and beheld the blushing face of 
Lou as she held a lamp above her head. The 
light fell full on her face, showing every feature 
distinctly. While there was not a trace of re- 
finement or culture about it, still it was a face 
that would cause one to take a second look, for 
it seemed to show signs of natural intelligence 
and of useful power as yet unawakened. 

“That ’s yer room,” she said, pointing to a 
half-opened door leading from the big room into 
a small bedroom. 

As he entered, his heart sank within him. 
The floor and walls were bare, and the only fur- 
nishings were an old-fashioned bureau, a rough 


20 


The Call of the Hills 


table, a straight-backed chair, and over in one 
corner was a single bed. Was this to be his 
retreat when he wanted to be alone with his 
books or his thoughts? He remembered his 
own room at home, and thought of how often 
he had murmured because of its plainness. 
Now, as he mentally compared it with the one 
in which he was standing, it seemed a real 
palace. Oh, how he longed to be at home at 
that moment! He hurriedly went to bed, for 
he knew that if he allowed himself to think of 
home, he could never stand it to stay in these 
hills, among these horribly ignorant people. 
Far away in the night he heard the hoot of an 
owl. He resolutely shut his eyes and was soon 
asleep. 


CHAPTER II 


THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL 

T is strange how a few hours of sound 
sleep will blot out the little unpleasant 
feelings we have. Ray Jones had 
gone to bed feeling homesick and a 
little bit worried over the words that Mrs. Simp- 
son had spoken concerning the hard proposition 
he had on hand in trying to fill Mr. Cole’s 
place in the heart of this people. The next 
morning as he arose after a sound sleep he could 
think of home without having his heart try to 
choke him, and as he thought over the words 
of the woman they had no effect on his spirits. 
It was foolish for him to deal in sentiment; this 
was a business proposition with him; he would 
teach their school in an acceptable manner, they 
should pay him his salary, and at the end of the 
school term he would leave them, perhaps never 



21 


22 


The Call of the Hills 


to see them again, as he felt sure that if it was 
necessary for him to teach again he would be 
able to secure a position in some town, or at least 
some more enlightened community. Why should 
he have the social or moral welfare of this com- 
munity at heart? They were nothing to him, 
and perhaps, if he tried to help them, they would 
not appreciate it. Had not his father given the 
very best part of his life to an unappreciative 
people? What had it done for him? Success- 
ful men of the world looked upon him as a fail- 
ure. Of course, his father thought he was a 
success because he was doing faithfully what he 
felt was his duty. His father’s failure would 
not be repeated by him if it lay in his power to 
prevent it, and he had great confidence in his 
ability to do whatever he undertook. 

When he went out to breakfast he found it 
awaiting him. He sat down alone to the coarse 
fare, as the family had eaten very early, that 
Joe might get an early start in the field. After 
he had eaten he began to get ready for his 
initiation as teacher of Spring Creek School. 
When he was finally ready to start to the school- 


The First Day of School 23 

house, which was more than a mile from the 
Simpson home, he remembered that he had 
never been there, and did not know in which 
direction to start He inquired of Mrs. Simp- 
son the way, and that good lady replied : “It ’s 
ruther a hard place ter find fer one who hain’t 
’quainted with ther hills and hollers. I ’low 
Lou had better go ’long an’ show yer, so yer 
won’t git lost.” 

“I ’m sure I can find it if you will but give 
me a few directions.” He did not want to ap- 
pear so dependent. But Lou, without paying 
any attention to his words of protest, was al- 
ready throwing a wrap on as she started for 
the door. Ray could do nothing but follow her. 
Together they went down the hill, she a little 
in advance. They passed the spring, and when 
they came to the little stream he offered to assist 
her over the foot-log. Ignoring the offered as- 
sistance, she walked nimbly across, waiting for 
him on the other side. As he joined her she 
set out, again in advance of him, without saying 
a word. The silence was becoming very em- 
barrassing to the young man, so he tried to 


24 


The Call of the Hills 


think of something to talk about. He began 
with the weather, the dear old stand-by with us 
all; but this did not seem to interest her, so he 
tried to question her about the school; but she 
“ ’lowed he ’d find out all erbout that when he ’d 
teached a spell.” Finally, despairing of en- 
gaging her in conversation, he gave it up and 
turned his attention to his surroundings. They 
had crossed the narrow valley and were climbing 
the hill; they passed up its side and entered the 
woods by a path. The leaves on the trees were 
still green, and as the sunlight sifted down 
through them It spread a soft glow over the 
dark earth beneath. As they walked along the 
path it seemed to Ray that he had never come so 
near seeing his Creator as that day In that beau- 
tiful outdoor temple. The soft light that filled 
the woods seemed to be a heavenly gleam. The 
silence that brooded over all seemed to be that 
great silent Spirit that has always been in the 
world to guide men in His mysterious manner. 
A voice as soft as a summer breeze, and yet dis- 
tinct, spoke to him out of the silence, “My son, 
follow Me; the path of duty lies In these hills.” 


25 


The First Day of School 

He started up suddenly. Who had spoken? 
Not the girl who walked stolidly on before him. 
He looked around him, as if he expected to see 
some one at his side. Then the thought struck 
him, “It’s the hills that are calling; God is 
moving them to do it.” The soft earth under 
his feet seemed to spring upward with life. 

“The’ ’s goin’ ter be an apple peelin’ over at 
Whitesides t’morer night, an’ they tole me ter 
bring ye along ef yer ’d come.” It was Lou’s 
voice this time, and it brought him back to earth 
quickly. She had not turned as she spoke, but 
he was sure she must be blushing. 

“Will yer go?” she said, as she had waited 
in vain for his answer. 

“Yes,” for he felt that there was no other 
way out but to promise. 

“The’ shore do hev good times at them 
apple peelin’s. Everybody comes from all 
’round.” She seemed to speak with perfect free- 
dom. At last a subject had been started that 
she was interested in. “The’ always play games 
after the apples ’s all peeled. I ’d heep ruther 
play old miller ’an anything. Did yer ever play 


26 


The Call of the Hills 


hit?” She turned and looked at her companion 
for the first time during their little walk. 

“No. How is it played?’^ 

“Hit ’s easy as can be. Yer jist choose a 
pardner and then jine the ring around the feller 
’at ain’t got nary ’n’, an’ everybody marches 
round him an’ sings, an’ when the’ holler ‘Grab !’ 
yer got ter git anuther pardner in a hurry, er 
the feller in the ring ’ll beat ye, an’ then yer ’d 
hafter be hit.” 

As she concluded the description of the game 
her face was all aglow with pleasure. It was 
one of the few great social events of her simple 
life, and she grew full of enthusiasm as she 
thought and talked of it. 

“Thar ’s the skeulhouse,” she said, as they 
came to the edge of a clearing, in the center of 
which stood a small frame building. “I ’ll be 
goin’ back now;” and she bounded back into the 
woods like a young faun. 

The teacher approached the building, un- 
locked the door, and went in. It was furnished 
with long, wooden benches, with desks on the 
back of each. A table stood in one corner by 


27 


The First Day of School 

a window. He took the chair standing nearby 
and seated himself by the table to await the 
coming of his pupils. He had not long to wait, 
for they soon began to come in. There were 
boys and girls of all sizes and ages. The boys 
were nearly all dressed in very coarse, home- 
made clothing; the girls in calico or gingham. 
He nodded to each of them as they came. They 
gathered in groups around the room and eyed 
him suspiciously. It made him feel very un- 
comfortable, but he tried not to pay any atten- 
tion. As he pretended to straighten up the table 
he tried to smile at them, but there was no re- 
sponse, and he gave it up. He rapped on his 
desk as a signal that it was time to begin. With 
a shuffling of rough-shod feet they took their 
seats. When all were quiet the master arose 
and said: 

“Boys and girls, we have come here this 
morning to begin a new term of school, and I 
am sure that it is the desire of all your parents 
that you apply yourselves and learn as much as 
possible. I am your teacher, and it is my pur- 
pose to direct you in this effort as best I can.” 


28 


The Call of the Hills 


He paused and looked over the schoolroom 
to note the effect of his words. There was a 
lack of interest on the part of all save a girl 
who sat near the door. He had not noticed her 
before. He had not seen her come in. She 
alone seemed to listen. As he looked at her 
she returned a look from frank blue eyes, and 
he thought he saw a faint smile of encourage- 
ment linger for a moment around those eyes. 
He turned and looked in another direction, and 
continued : 

“I have no rules to lay down, but will con- 
sider you all model pupils until you give me 
cause to think otherwise. You will please give 
me your names on a slip of paper, so I can enter 
them in the register.” As he looked at the little 
faces in the front row he realized that he had 
blundered. He was sure an amused smile was 
going the rounds. He dared not look up for a 
moment, he was so confused. Presently he said : 
“You may tell me your names and how old you 
are as I point you out,” indicating the children 
on the front row by a nod of the head in their 
direction. 


The First Day of School 29 

“First little boy,” pointing to a little black- 
headed fellow, “what is your name?” 

“Ben Westwood.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Dunno.” 

Before the teacher had time to say anything 
further, a big, overgrown boy in the back part 
of the house spoke out sullenly: 

“He ’s old ’nuff ter come to skeul, er his 
mammy would n’t ’a’ sent him.” 

For a moment the teacher was taken off his 
guard by the sudden interference, but only for 
a moment. He knew that now was the time to 
show w'ho was going to run the school. 

“Will you please come forward?” he said, 
addressing the big boy. There was something 
in his voice that made the boy obey. As he 
stood before the master he seemed angry with 
himself for having obeyed. He looked defiantly 
at the teacher. The latter returned a firm, fear- 
less one as he spoke: 

“I had no desire to begin the new term by 
punishing any of you, but you have shown a 
disrespect for myself and the school by speaking 


30 


The Call of the Hills 


in the way you did, and I am compelled to pun- 
ish you. As this is the first offense, I will not 
be too severe. You may stand in that corner 
until recess.” Ray could see that a struggle for 
supremacy was near, and he prepared himself 
for it. The boy made no motion to obey this 
last order; so the teacher spoke again: 

“Take your place in that corner.” 

The only answer was a defiant look from 
those sullen gray eyes. Without any hesitation 
the master took him by the collar and pushed 
him toward the corner. The boy shook himself 
free and struck at the teacher; the latter, seeing 
the blow coming, quickly stepped aside, letting 
it pass harmlessly by. So much force was in it 
that the boy was completely overbalanced and 
fell sprawling over the chair from which the 
teacher had just arisen. Before he had time to 
pick himself up, Ray had seized him by the col- 
lar and dragged him to the corner. 

“Stand there until I tell you to move!” he 
said, as the boy slowly got on his feet. He was 
so ashamed of his failure to whip the teacher 
that he obeyed without a word. 


The First Day of School 31 

Ray felt that the incident had established 
him fully as master of the school. Recess came, 
and the pupils filed out into the yard. The 
master turned from his desk to where the con- 
quered pupil was still standing. 

“You may go out with the rest, Tom,’’ he 
said, kindly. The boy went out without a word. 

It was with a feeling of satisfaction that Ray 
walked to the door and stood looking out at 
the boys and girls at play. He knew that, since 
Tom Westwood was a leader, in conquering him 
he had conquered the whole school. As he let 
his eyes wander over the schoolyard he saw the 
young woman who had listened to him so at- 
tentively when he was addressing the school that 
morning. He had found her name to be Roxy 
Nettles. She was the daughter of one of the 
directors of the school. She sat on the grass 
under a tree. A book lay open before her, but 
she was not reading. She was watching the 
children at play and seemed to be getting as 
much enjoyment in watching as they were in 
playing. She was different from any one he 
had met since his coming into this community. 


32 


The Call of the Hills 


and yet she seemed somehow to fit perfectly amid 
her rude surroundings. She was far in advance 
of all the other pupils in school work, and she 
had shown a refined manner that had utterly sur- 
prised Ray. He rang the bell for books, won- 
dering what her home life was, for he felt that 
there must be the explanation of it all. 

Ray was glad when the time for dismissal 
came, for it had been a trying day on him. As 
he walked back to his boarding place the home- 
sickness had returned. He wanted to quit and 
go back home and leave these ignorant people. 
But just then he seemed to see two frank blue 
eyes with the shadow of a smile in their depths, 
and he thought they are not all ignorant. 


CHAPTER III 


THE APPLE PEELING 

HE next day dawned clear and beauti- 
ful. Ray arose with the sun. He 
walked down to the spring, and after 
taking a long, cold draught from its 
sparkling depth he sat down on a stone and 
looked around him. Everywhere he looked was 
beauty, natural beauty, God’s handiwork. Why 
that noble hill over yonder, this fertile valley, 
these stately trees, and this bubbling spring? 
“For man,” came the answer, “the noblest of 
all God’s creation.” But amid all this there 
lived a people that were ignorant and shiftless. 
Why not a better class amid such blessings? 
God knows no class; all men are dear to His 
great eternal heart. It is the duty of those who 
know to impart knowledge to those who do not 
know. Such were Ray’s thoughts as he sat there 
that beautiful morning. And then he remem- 



3 


33 


34 


The Call of the Hills 


bered the voice that spoke to him the previous 
day, and somehow his duty to these hill folks 
was made very plain to him. His thoughts were 
broken by the sound of a horse’s hoof-beat. He 
arose and looked up the hill, and saw a man 
riding a big roan horse coming in his direction. 
It was John Whiteside, a brother to Crazy Jake. 
As he came opposite to where the teacher was 
standing he stopped his horse, shifted a quid of 
tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other, 
spat, and then said: 

“Howdy, mister.” 

Ray returned the salutation. John spoke 
again : 

“I ’low yer the new teacher I ’ve heerd 
’bout?” 

Ray nodded. 

“Jake sed he seen ye the night yer come. 
He ’s been tellin’ us whut a fin’-lookin’ feller yer 
be, an’ I ’ve been powerful anxious ter git a 
squint at ye.” He was looking Ray over from 
head to foot curiously. 

“I ’ll be busted ef he ain’t just ’bout right 
in his way o’ thinkin’ this time.” 


35 


The Apple Peeling 

Ray was beginning to get red in the face, 
for he was not accustomed to such frank ex- 
pressions of admiration. John paid no attention 
to his embarrassment, but went on speaking : 

“Yer see,” shifting his quid and ejecting a 
very dark stream from his mouth, “Jake ain’t 
jist as smart as he - might be. I ’low yer tuk 
notice to that t’ other evening’, but he ’s got 
more good boss sense than the folks ’round hayr 
give him credit fer.” 

Ray was anxious to know more about the 
mysterious brother, and as he saw John pre- 
paring to start he said: 

“Why does your brother seem to fear the 
devil so much?” 

There was a peculiar gleam in John’s eyes 
now; he had lost the look of careless curiosity. 
After a moment’s hesitation he spoke. 

“Hain’t ye heerd ’bout hit? I ’lowed Simp- 
sons had tole ye afore this.” 

“No, they have n’t told me anything about 
him.” 

“Wall, mister, hit’s jist this way; we uns 
do n’t know much ’bout hit ourselves, fer he 


36 


The Call of the Hills 


wus never able ter tell jist whut happened ter 
him ; we Ve got our idee ’bout hit, uv course. 
Jake never wus very strong in his head, but yer 
could n’t call him crazy. One day he come home 
jist as wild as a catamount and sed the devil 
hed ketched him an’ tied him ter a tree an’ 
stuck a big fork in him. Thar wus marks on 
his arms an’ legs like he ’d bin tied, an’ holes 
in his clo’es whar the blood wus runnin’ through. 
Thet ’s all we uns know ’bout hit fer shore, but 
hit ain’t all we ’re goin’ ter know ’bout hit, fer 
ef God gives me strength I ’m goin’ ter hunt 
them devils down an’ pay ’em fer hit.” Fire 
flashed from his eyes as he spoke this last, and 
he brought his fist down on the saddle-horn with 
such force that it jarred the horse. 

“I ’low hit ’s time I wus goin’,” he said, 
abruptly, and giving his horse a kick in the side, 
he started on. 

Ray hastened toward the house, for it was 
not long till school time, and he had not had 
his breakfast. 

It was not long until the master found him- 
self in the little schoolhouse again. The day 


The Apple Peeling 37 

was an uneventful one. The affair with Tom 
Westwood had, as Ray expected, settled the 
matter of supremacy. The pupils, with one 
accord, had settled down into meek submission. 
All was quiet save the customary schoolroom 
hum occasioned by the moving of many lips in 
study, the scraping of rough shoes upon the 
floor, or the scratching of a pencil as it was 
pushed along the slate by sturdy little fingers. 

Many times through the day Ray had 
thought of the invitation he had received to 
attend the apple peeling, and wished he might 
withdraw his acceptance. He knew it would 
never do to make these people feel that he was 
holding himself aloof from them; so by the 
time school was out in the afternoon he had 
fully decided to go, regardless of his wishes in 
the matter. 

When he arrived at the Simpson home he 
found supper awaiting him. All the work had 
been done, and Joe and Lou were dressed in 
their gala-day attire. He was surprised to know 
that they were going so early in the evening, 
but said nothing. He hurriedly ate his supper. 


38 


The Call of the Hills 


and very soon after found himself with the two 
young persons on the road to Whiteside’s. It 
is needless to say the walk was a silent one, for, 
try as he would, he could not engage either the 
sister or brother in conversation. 

When they arrived at the Whiteside home 
they were greeted in true backwoods style. Joe 
simply announced to Old Man Whiteside, who 
met them at the door, that this was the new 
teacher. Their host grasped Ray’s hand and 
worked his arm up and down as if it was a 
pump-handle, while he looked him over as if he 
was a horse that he was thinking of trading. 
He then led the way to a big room, where some 
of the guests had already assembled. 

“This hayr is the new skeul teacher,” he an- 
nounced in a very loud voice. “I ’low ye ’ve all 
heered uv him ’fore this. ’Specially the gals,” 
he added, giving Ray a familiar punch in the 
ribs. This sally of wit brought loud “haw- 
haws” from the young men and giggles from the 
young women. Ray felt very much embarrassed 
and not a little displeased with his rude old host. 

“Now yer ’ll jist hev ter make yerselves ter 


The Apple Peeling 39 

hum, fer I Ve got ter be out an’ see that the rest 
uv ’em git in.” And the old man went out. 

Ray seated himself in one corner of the 
room, so that he would be as unnoticed as pos- 
sible. Lou sat not far away. Every time he 
looked in her direction he caught her staring at 
him. Every one was as silent as if they were 
at a funeral instead of a place of merry-making. 
Ray felt that his coming into their midst had 
cast a spell over them. At last the silence was 
broken by the arrival of new guests. Among 
the new arrivals were two young men who 
seemed to be pals, and yet they were as unlike 
as could be. The larger one of the two was a 
typical man of the hills. His face was not bad- 
looking, save for the bestial-looking eyes. The 
other was of slighter build and had an intelli- 
gent face. One could tell at first sight that he 
was not a native of that country. As he smil- 
ingly looked around the room he caught sight 
of the teacher and came toward him with ex- 
tended hand as he said: 

“You are Mr. Jones, the new teacher, I be- 
lieve.” 


40 


The Call of the Hills 


Ray arose and took his hand. 

“Your name is on everybody’s tongue in this 
community just at present. You know that any 
one coming from the outer world into this out- 
of-the-way place causes a great deal of com- 
ment.” 

Ray could not help being pleased with the 
young man, he had such a pleasant manner. 

“My name is Carson — Samuel Carson,” he 
continued, “and this is my friend Rupert. Come 
here, Bill, and shake hands with Mr. Jones.” 
The other young man came forward at the invi- 
tation and shook Ray’s hand rather awkwardly. 

Just here old Whiteside came in to announce 
that everything was ready for the apple peeling 
to begin. A rush was made for the other room 
across the big open hall. That room was much 
like the other. The furniture had all been re- 
moved and benches had been placed around the 
wall. In the middle of the floor was a great pile 
of golden apples. Everybody was given a pan 
or dish of some kind and a case-knife. Then, 
amid much loud talk and laughter, the work 
began in earnest. As Ray looked across the 


41 


The Apple Peeling 

room he saw Roxy Nettles. She had not been 
in the other room. He noticed that she entered 
into the affair with as much spirit as any of those 
present. She saw him looking at her, and as 
their eyes met a smile and a nod came his way. 
He turned himself to the apples in the pan he 
held and began to work in earnest. He felt a 
certain repressed excitement in the crowd, but 
was unable to explain it. At last it burst forth 
in a shout from all. He looked up from the 
apple he was peeling and saw Lou advancing 
toward him with a big red apple in her hand. 
Before he could realize what was in the air, she 
had stooped down and kissed him on the lips. 
Then she rushed back to her seat, bashfully hid- 
ing her face in her hands. The hot blood 
mounted to his cheeks, and anger filled his heart. 
He was about to rise and resent it in words, 
when he felt a tug at his sleeves and a low voice 
speaking in his ear. 

“Do n’t mind that, Mr. Jones. It ’s the 
custom whoever finds a red apple gets to kiss 
whoever they desire.” 

Ray turned and saw the smiling face of Sam 


42 


The Call of the Hills 


Carson. No one else had foreseen his move, 
and none had heard the admonition. He set- 
tled back in his seat obediently, for on second 
thought he had decided it was best not to show 
his feelings. Presently a young man produced 
a red apple and claimed his reward from the lips 
of a blushing young girl. Before the pile had 
disappeared several had been rewarded in like 
manner. 

After the apples were all peeled, games be- 
came the order of the evening. Ray joined in 
rather reluctantly. He wondered how Carson 
could enter into it all so heartily. He seemed 
to be a man of refined taste, and yet he looked 
as if he was enjoying himself as much as any 
one in the room. As Ray watched him he some- 
how felt as though there was a vein of insincerity 
about him. At any rate, he was winning favor 
with the people with his smiling face and gra- 
cious manners. 

“Git yer pardners fer ‘Ole Miller!’ ” a voice 
rang out, amid the din of laughing and shouting, 
and the teacher knew that Lou’s favorite game 
was about to be played. 


43 


The Apple Peeling 

“Git a pardner, teacher,” yelled Old Man 
Whiteside from one corner of the room, where 
he was watching the young folks. “Do n’t yer 
see all these purty gals jist waitin’ fer ye ter 
ast ’em?” 

Ray looked around quickly for some one to 
ask, for he did not want to have the old man 
display any more wit at his expense. His eyes 
fell on Roxy, who was standing by the doorway, 
alone. How beautiful and pure she looked, clad 
in a neat gingham dress, her wavy golden hair 
combed back from her white forehead and 
caught up at the back of her head with a blue 
ribbon that matched her beautiful eyes in color, 
and her fair young face tinted with the flush of 
health! She seemed to him like a beautiful 
flower wasting its sweetness on the desert air. 
He moved toward her; she seemed to anticipate 
his coming, for she turned to him with an en- 
couraging smile. 

“Miss Roxy, will you give me the pleasure?” 
he said, offering his arm. 

“Certainly,” she replied, sweetly, as she laid 
a small hand on the offered arm. 


44 


The Call of the Hills 


Together they walked into the middle of 
the room and joined the circle. They were soon 
whirling around the room in a merry way. Ray 
found, to his surprise, that he was having a good 
time. After the game had lasted until every one 
was tired and was ready to quit, Ray took Roxy 
to a seat, and as he sat down beside her sh^ 
looked into his eyes and said: 

“Did you like it?” 

“Yes, very much. It is the only real fun 
I Ve had this evening.” 

“I ’m glad you did, for you seemed not to 
enjoy the other games, especially the apple peel- 
ing.” A merry smile played about her face as 
she spoke the last. 

“Well, I must say I was somewhat surprised 
when the young lady kissed me.” 

“Oh, I hope you won’t let that give you a 
bad impression of us, for it is the custom here 
and is never thought anything of. I see the 
crowd is getting ready to leave, so I must find 
my brothers and go too.” Then, as she 
rose, she said, “Won’t you come to see us 
soon?” 


The Apple Peeling 45 

“When shall I come?” He had arisen also, 
and stood beside her. 

“Any time you care to. The teacher comes 
whenever he pleases in this neighborhood.” 

“I will come soon.” 

“We will look for you. Good-bye.” And 
she left him. 

He found his host and, after bidding him 
good-night, set out for home alone, for Joe had 
gone and, to his delight, he saw John Whiteside 
starting out with Lou. 

As he trudged down the hill that crisp 
autumn night he little dreamed that the fire that 
was to refine him had been kindled. 


CHAPTER IV 


A SABBATH DAY AT UNCLE JIM’S 

BOUT a half mile up Spring Creek 
above the old mill stood a little log 
house. The rough logs were almost 
concealed in the spring and summer 
by ivy and climbing roses. Just in front of the 
house was a vegetable and flower garden com- 
bined, which extended to the creek. At the back 
was a five^acre lot, fenced in with a rail-fence, 
where small patches of potatoes and corn were 
raised. All around the little home the spirit of 
peace hovered. 

In this peaceful little haven dwelt James 
Watkins and his good wife Susan. They were 
known throughout the neighborhood as Uncle 
Jim and Aunt Sue. The old man had run the 
mill many years until rheumatism had stricken 
him and for a while had made him almost help- 
less ; the mill had been closed during that time. 



46 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 47 

At last, when he was able to open it again, he 
found that the people who had formerly patron- 
ized him had become accustomed to have their 
grinding done at a little mill near the store at 
Spring Bluff. It would take some time to win 
them back, and then he might not be able to run 
it very long, as he was getting old ; so he thought 
best not to open up again. He tilled the five- 
acre field, and with the vegetables his wife raised 
in the garden and the eggs their fowls furnished 
they were supplied with all the necessities of life. 
Uncle Jim often said: “We ’re only temporary 
hayr anyhow, and some day we ’re goin’ ter be 
set up permanent in the City uv God ; so what ’s 
the use uv stewin’ an’ frettin’ eround ter lay 
things up in this world.” The old couple never 
left their home unless some minister happened to 
preach at the schoolhouse, which was not often. 
They would always go to hear him. Uncle Jim 
would hitch up old Selim and drive to the post- 
office and store every Saturday to get the mail 
and buy the few groceries they needed. 

About a week after the coming of the school- 
master, on a beautiful Sabbath morning. Uncle 


48 


The Call of the Hills 


Jim sat on a bench just outside the door, smok- 
ing. Aunt Sue was sitting in the doorway, read- 
ing a well-worn Bible. They were both in a 
thoughtful frame of mind. From where they 
sat they could look down into the water of the 
creek as it lay peaceful in the sunlight. 

“Mother,” the old man was the first to break 
the silence, “do n’t yer think when David writ 
that Twenty-third Sam he must ’a’ been settin’ 
on the bank uv a stream jist like Spring Crick 
an’ on jist sich a day as this ’n’?” 

“Mebbe so, father,” replied the old lady, 
as she raised her glasses from her nose and let 
them rest in her silvery hair. 

“Wall, I ’low he must ’a’ been, fer as I set 
hayr lookin’ at that water so peaceful, hit makes 
my heart feel like hit ’s goin’ ter bust with glad- 
ness, fer thar ain’t a want in me thet ain’t been 
supplied by the Great Shepherd, an’ I feel like 
sayin’ with the samist, ‘Bless the Lord, O my 
soul, an’ all thet is within me bless His holy 
name!’” As he spoke, the old man’s face 
glowed with a heavenly light. “Cain’t ye start 
a hymn, mother? I feel like singin’ now.” 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 49 

The old lady cleared her voice and in a 
trembling but sweet tone began: 

O for a heart to praise my God; 

A heart from sin set free; 

A heart that always feels Thy blood 
So freely split for me. 

Scarcely had she begun until Uncle Jim struck 
in with his quavering bass, and so they sang the 
hymn through; their voices floated away down 
the creek on the breezes; their spirits melted in 
the radiant sunlight of the Heavenly Father’s 
love. 

“I wonder who that is cornin’ up the crick?” 
said the old man after they had finished the song. 
He was shading his eyes as he looked at the 
approaching stranger. 

The old lady arose, wiped her eyes with her 
apron, came out of the doorway, and stood be- 
side her husband. 

“I can’t somehow make him out,” contin- 
ued he. 

“Mebbe hit ’s that young feller Carson, 
whut stays up at Rupert’s,” she suggested. 

“No, ’t aint him, fer I ’ve seed him ’nuff ter 


4 


50 


The Call of the Hills 


know him, an’ I shore don’t know thet feller 
thet ’s cornin’.” 

By this time the stranger was near the house, 
and as he seemed to hesitate about coming any 
further. Uncle Jim hailed him in his usual hearty 
manner: 

“Howdy, stranger I Come right in and rest 
a spell. Mother, bring out a cheer. Hit ’s a 
site pleasanter out hayr than in the house.” 
The old lady obeyed, and as soon as the man 
was seated the host said: 

“I ’low ye do n’t live ’round these parts. 
Do n’t think I ever seed ye afore.” 

“No, sir; this is not my home, but I ’m 
staying here at present. My name is Jones. 
I ’m the new teacher of the school up on the 
hill.” 

The old man started up in surprise, then 
settled back in his seat and chuckled as he 
said: 

“So yer the teacher, air ye? Well, I heered 
’bout that little fracus yer had with that big 
Westwood boy. We ’re powerful glad thet ye 
come ter see us. Hain’t we, mother?” He 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 51 

turned to his wife, who was standing beside the 
bench on which he sat. 

“Yes, Mister Jones, we ’re alias glad ter 
have folks come ter see us.” And as she spoke 
she beamed down on the teacher with a motherly 
ismile that won him to the old lady at once. 

“I was just taking a stroll, it being sudh a 
beautiful day, and as I was standing down by 
the mill I heard singing. It sounded so much 
like home, I thought I would find out where it 
came from.” And then he went on as if to ex- 
plain, “My father is a minister, and we are 
accustomed to sing that hymn which you were 
just singing.” 

“So yer a minister’s son. Wall, I ’low ye 
must miss the meetin’ to-day,” said the old man. 
“ ’T ain’t often out hayr thet yer ’ll git ter at- 
tend a meetin’, but mebbe sence yer a preacher’s 
son ye can preach fer us sometimes at the skeul- 
house. We ’d be powerful glad ter hev yer 
do hit.” 

“I do n’t think I could hardly do that, as I 
have never had any experience in that line.” 

“I ’lowed mebbe ye ’d wanter foller in yer 


52 


The Call of the Hills 


father’s footsteps, and wus goin’ ter be a 
preacher some day, fer the’ ain’t nuthin’ grander 
than preachin’ the gospel. Sometimes I feel as 
if I ’d ourghter done hit myself, an’ then I think 
how foolish hit ’ud be fer a ign’rant old man 
like me to do sich a thing. We hed a boy thet 
’peared ter me like he ’d ourghter preach, but 
God did n’t see hit thet way.” 

Ray noticed that at this point in the old 
man’s speech the old lady turned and went into 
the house. Uncle Jim, as if realizing he was 
touching on forbidden ground, abruptly said: 

“Ef yer ain’t goin’ any place in perticlar, 
teacher, ye might jist as wall spend the day 
with us.” 

“I shall be glad to accept your invitation if 
it will not give your wife any extra trouble in 
getting dinner.” 

“Hit won’t be any trouble, but a r’al pleas- 
ure. Mebbe we ’d better go in the house now, 
fer I ’low I ’ve set our hayr too long fer my 
own good. Hit ’s sich a temptin’ day ter set 
out in the open, but the air is a bit too chilly 
fer my rheumatiz.” 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 53 

Ray followed the old man into the house, 
and as he looked around him he saw the almost 
perfect neatness of the arrangement of the room. 
The floor was bare save for some home-made 
rugs that lay upon its spotless surface. On the 
whitewashed walls hung some old-fashioned pic- 
tures. One that held his attention a moment 
was that of a boy just ready to enter manhood. 
Ray thought it must be the son, of whom the 
old man had spoken. All the furniture was 
very plain, but was so arranged that it gave the 
room a homelike appearance. 

The two sat opposite each other before an 
old fireplace in which some red coals were glow- 
ing. The old man slowly refilled his pipe and, 
taking a coal from the hearth, laid it carefully 
on the tobacco and began to puff. The young 
man had sat silent, watching the operation. 
As soon as the smoke began to roll out of 
his mouth in great puffs. Uncle Jim withdrew 
the stem from his mouth and addressed the 
teacher: 

“So yer don’t aim ter preach? Mebbe yer 
goin’ ter teach all yer life?” 


54 


The Call of the Hills 


The question came so pointedly it made the 
young man wince just a little. 

“No, I do n’t intend to do either. My am- 
bition is to become a lawyer.” 

“Um-huh,” said the old man, reflectively, 
taking the pipe from his lips when he had taken 
another puff. “Wall, I ain’t got nuthin’ agin 
lawyers, fer we ’ve got ter have ’em, I ’low ; but 
’cordin’ ter my way of thinkin’ we got sumpin’ 
else ter do ’cept bangin’ ’round a courthouse 
tryin’ ter see how much trouble we can rake up 
so ’s ter git a little money out’n hit.” 

“Well, I feel that I would like to have a 
little of this world’s goods and make a name 
for myself. Every young man ought to have an 
ambition to rise in the world,” said the teacher, 
trying to defend himself. 

“I ’low I hain’t got none o’ these new- 
fangled notions ’bout sich things, but hit ’pears 
ter me as ef this ambition yer talkin’ uv is jist 
whut ’s ruinin’ the world. Most folks air run- 
nin’ arter the things uv the world nowadays, an’ 
God an’ His Kingdom air bein’ powerful neg- 
lected. The thing we wanter do mos’ ain’t alius 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 55 

the thing we ’d ourghter do. Jist look at this 
neighborhood right hayr on Spring Crick; all 
kinds uv sin goin’ on all the time, an’ mos’ly 
’cause these folks ain’t got nobody ter lam ’em 
how ter do differ’nt; an’ I ’low this is jist one 
uv many places in thet fix. Ef some folks 
whut ’s got ther talent hid away would jist be 
willin’ ter take hit outen hits hidin’ place an’ 
come out hayr an’ use it, I ’low he ’d be makin’ 
a name fer hisself thet ’u’d never die, an’ a for- 
tune thet ’ud be everlastin’.” The old man 
paused and looked at the teacher, who was listen- 
ing attentively, showing no signs of the inward 
struggle that had been caused by the words of 
the honest old soul. After knocking the ashes 
out of his pipe and laying it upon the mantle. 
Uncle Jim went on in a way that was torture 
to the young man’s soul: 

“Yer see I laid a heap uv faith in yer bein’ 
able to do a lot uv good fer this place. Yer 
young an’ smart, an’ had the right kind uv 
raisin’. Hit ’pears ter me as ef yer jist the one 
God wants ter help us hill folks. Mister Cole 
done lots, but he had ter leave us.” At that 


56 The Call of the Hills 

moment Aunt Sue came in and announced that 
dinner was ready. 

The three sat down to the simple meal. 
Uncle Jim reverently thanked the Heavenly 
Father “fer His bounteous blessin’s.” There 
seemed to be such perfect contentment in his 
heart that it was a silent rebuke for Ray when 
he thought of how he had complained against 
his own lot. 

The old man appeared as if he was satisfied 
with the manner in which he had delivered him- 
self to the teacher, for all through the remainder 
of the day he did not again mention the subject 
of the forenoon. Enough had been said, for, 
try as he would, Ray could not keep his thoughts 
from the old man’s words, and again he seemed 
to hear that soft whisper that he had heard on 
his way to the schoolhouse the first morning. 
The old man appeared not to notice the silence 
into which his guest had lapsed, but talked on 
intermittently through the afternoon. 

At last, when the shadows began to grow 
like the beanstalk of the old fairy-tale, and the 
breezes were laden with a cool dampness as from 


A Sabbath Day at Uncle Jim’s 57 

some underground cavern, Ray started up as if 
from sleep and said it was time for him to go. 
The old couple pressed him with an invitation 
to come again. He promised to do so, and went 
down the creek path. As he came to the mill 
he stopped and looked at the water tumbling 
over the idle wheel, and likened it to his own 
troubled soul. “Must I surrender these ambi- 
tions that I have cherished so fondly?” and, 
looking around as if afraid some one had heard 
him, he hastened up the valley road. 


CHAPTER V 


A DECLARATION OF LOVE 

HE beautiful September days dragged 
slowly along for Ray. The last Fri- 
day of the month had come at last, 
and with it came the first month’s 
salary. As the teacher left the schoolhouse that 
afternoon, a sudden desire to quit and go back 
home seized him. He knew that he would be 
gladly received by his parents, for his mother 
had written him several times, telling him how 
they missed him and how much they wished he 
had a position nearer home, so he could visit 
them often. He felt sure that he could find 
something to do near his home. He had money 
enough to go. Then, why should he stay in a 
place that was so unpleasant to him? He was 
just about to decide to hand in his resignation 
as teacher, when the thought struck him that he 
was running away from a hard task, and that 
such a thing would have a tendency to weaken 



58 


A Declaration of Love 59 

him in after life. That caused him to change 
his decision immediately. He would not run 
away, no matter how unpleasant it might be 
for him to stay. He would not be a coward, a 
weakling. He hated the thought of such. As 
the final decision was made he began to walk 
rapidly, as if afraid he might again change his 
mind. When he came to the spring he got down 
on all fours and began to drink slowly. While 
he was thus engaged his ear caught the sound 
of a horse’s hoofbeat. Raising himself, he saw 
John Whiteside coming down the hill on his 
big roan. 

“Good morning!” said Ray. John never so 
much as turned his head. 

The teacher was very much perplexed. He 
could not understand John’s strange action. 
Undoubtedly he was angry about something; 
what could it be? Ray had not seen him since 
the apple peeling, and he was sure that he had 
not done anything then to make him angry. He 
walked slowly up the hill to the house. So in- 
tent was he thinking about John’s refusal to 
speak that he did not notice Lou pass swiftly 


60 


The Call of the Hills 


out of the back door as he entered the front. 
If he had seen her he might have had something 
else to wonder about, for she usually found oc- 
casion to be on the porch or at the gate every 
evening when he returned. Ray could not help 
but see that the girl was trying in every possible 
way to attract him, and he had been doing his 
best to discourage her in her efforts. On that 
evening he passed on into his room and dropped 
wearily into a chair and took up his school 
register to mark the attendance of the day. As 
he opened it an envelope dropped out and fell 
on the floor. Hurriedly picking it up, he ex- 
amined it. It was addressed to him in a very 
childish hand, but it bore neither stamp nor 
post mark. Curious to know its contents, he 
tore it open and read the following: 

“my dere swethart i rite this leter to tel 
yu how much i luv yu i kant liv with out yu 
i cud git a nuther feller what livs dost by 
hear but i dont want nun but yu i hop yu 
luv me if yu do yu dont ned to rite it but 
jist tel me with lots uv luv an cises i am yor 
luving swethart lou” 


A Declaration of Love 61 

Ray could scarce believe his eyes when he 
read it. What did it mean? Surely Lou had 
not written it. But who else could have done it? 
At that moment he heard some one enter the 
other room. He arose and opened the door. 
As he did so his eyes fell upon the blushing, 
smiling face of the author of the letter, which 
he still held in his hand. He stood looking at 
her for a moment, at a loss to know just how 
to act in the matter ; then anger filled his heart, 
and he felt like saying something very sharp to 
her; but as he looked into the girl’s eyes he saw 
an ignorant and darkened soul looking through 
them, and his anger gave way to pity. 

“Lou, did you leave this note in my 
room?” He had himself well in hand as he 
spoke. 

“Yes,” she said, trying to hide her face in 
her hands. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“ ’Cause I ’lowed hit was the easiest way 
ter tell ye.” 

“But do n’t you know it is very indiscreet 
in you?” 


62 


The Call of the Hills 


“In what?” she said, looking up quickly, 
curiosity written upon her face. 

“Indiscreet. Something a lady ought not to 
do,” he tried to explain. 

“Wall, I ain’t no lady. I ’m jist a plain 
country gal. Ladies lives in the cities and war 
fine clo’s. I ’lowed I could be one ef yer ’d take 
me ter the city an’ git me the clo’s.” 

“You don’t understand,” he said, rather 
helplessly. “I mean a girl should never write 
such a note to a man. It does n’t look well.” 

“Oh,” she replied, as a light came into her 
eyes; “I know I don’t write es purty es some 
folks does, but I ’low, es ye ’re a skeul teacher, 
yer could larn me how.” 

Ray was almost on the verge of losing his 
temper, and this time replied rather sharply: 
“Listen to me; see if you can understand this. 
I do n’t love you, and never could; and I would 
never think of marrying you.” 

A look of disappointment stole slowly over 
the girl’s face while he was speaking, and she 
stared at him open-mouthed, but did not make 
any rejoiner. As he looked upon her it dawned 


A Declaration of Love 


63 


upon him that here was a chance to give a 
poor, ignorant girl some needed advice, and 
without (hesitating he began: 

“Lou,” he said, kindly, “I am sure you un- 
derstand me now; so let me tell you something 
that will help you. God intended that a woman 
should be the most beautiful creature on earth. 
Now, when I say ‘beautiful’ I do n’t mean a 
pretty face and figure, for some of the most 
beautiful women I have ever seen do not possess 
either. To be beautiful, then, is to be virtuous, 
intelligent, modest, gentle, kind, and possess 
many other such graces. Perhaps you do n’t 
know what all this means,” he continued, as he 
saw a blank expression on her face, “so let me 
make it more plain; be just as good as you know 
how to be, and always try to find out how to 
be better.” 

The girl listened with deep interest, and 
when he had finished she said: “I shore wish I 
could be beautiful; but I ’low the’ ain’t no use 
tryin’ out hayr in this country, fer if I tried, 
ever’body ’ud laf an’ make fun an’ say I was 
stuck up.” 


64 


The Call of the Hills 


“But you would not need to appear so that 
people would think so of you.” He was very 
much in .earnest now, for he saw in this ignorant 
girl before him a soul hungering for a higher 
and better life. At that moment a still voice 
whispered to him, “How many are there in this 
community in whom this desire lies unawakened, 
waiting for some one to speak to them and show 
them this better life!” He knew the voice; it 
had spoken to him often of late, pointing out 
his path of duty all too plain. He was not will- 
ing to yield. However, he had determined to 
help this girl if possible. 

“As for knowing how to be good,” he con- 
tinued, “I ’ll do all I can to teach you ; but know- 
ing is not all there is to being good. The Bible 
says, ‘If ye know these things, happy are ye if 
you do them.’ So if we know how to live, and 
then do n’t do it, we are worse than those who 
do not know.” 

Ray’s own words seemed to bring condem- 
nation to himself, for he felt sure he was not 
doing all that he knew to be his duty. 

“Wall, ef yer ’ll show me how ter live, I ’ll 


A Declaration of Love 65 

shore try, fer I want ter be what yer call beauti- 
ful. What’s the fust thing I ourghter do?” 
She looked up to him as a child might to its 
parent for instruction. Ray shuddered when he 
realized how much it meant to show some one 
how to live acceptable to God; but he had 
promised to help her, and he determined to do 
his best. 

“The first thing,” he replied, “I want you 
to take the book which I shall give you and 
study it.” He stepped into his room and re- 
turned with a book, which he handed to her. 
“It ’s a grammar, and will teach you how to 
use proper language.” 

She examined it for a moment, and then 
said: “I uster study this a little at skeul, but 
didn’t think much of hit. I never ’lowed hit 
had anything ter do with makin’ a person beauti- 
ful.” 

“A beautiful woman should speak properly.” 

“I ’low she ourghter,” she replied, as she 
slowly turned the pages of the book. Then she 
added: “Mister Jones, I ’low you ain’t goin’ ter 
say anything ’bout thet letter I wrote ter you. 


5 


66 


The Call of the Hills 


Air ye? ’Cause I didn’t mean no harm an’ 
never ’lowed it was wrong.” 

“Indeed, I will not mention It again. And 
now we shall always be good friends, and I will 
do all I can to help you be a beautiful woman.” 
As he finished he turned and walked out of the 
house, leaving the girl poring over the book 
which he had given her. 

As he walked down the valley road his mind 
was full of the talk he had just had with the 
girl, and when he thought of how he had led 
her to see the possibility of her living a higher 
and better life, and how he had offered to help 
her, his heart was filled with a strange new 
peace. He stretched his arms heavenward and, 
with a voice full of emotion, said: “Oh, Father, 
if I could only do It! Make me willing.” He 
paused for a moment, looking upward, as If ex- 
pecting an answer, and then he pushed rapidly 
on down the road until nightfall reminded him 
that he had better retrace his steps. When he 
returned to the house he found the family seated 
around the supper table. 


A Declaration of Love 67 

“We waited fer ye a spell,” said Mrs. 
Simpson. 

“I just took a walk and went further than 
I intended to,” replied Ray, absently. 

The meal was an unusually quiet one. Ray 
glanced at Lou and saw that she seemed busy 
with some serious thoughts, which was unusual 
for her. 


CHAPTER VI 


A TROUBLESOME DIRECTOR 

OM, air ye lamin’ anything ter 
skeul?” Mr. Westwood said to his 
son Tom one morning as the two 
were out in the barn feeding the stock. 

“Yas,” said the boy, indifferently. 

“Wall, what hev ye larnt?” The father 
stood with the empty corn-basket in his hand, 
for he had just thrown the last ear of com to 
the horses. 

The boy looked up with a perplexed look on 
his face, but did not reply. 

“I say, what hev ye lamt? Can’t ye under- 
stand nuthin’?” This time, as he spoke, he had 
thrown the basket back into the crib and stood 
before his son with his hands on his hips and 
a look of determination on his face. The boy 
seemed to recognize the position of his father 



68 


A Troublesome Director 69 

as one of determination to carry out a purpose, 
for he replied without further hesitation : 

“I — I hev larnt sumpin’ ’bout figers an’ — 
some other things,” he stammered. 

“ ’Bout figers?” said the father, wagging his 
head wisely. “Wall, I ’low thet ’s ’bout the 
most important thing ye git outen skeul.” 
Then, putting his hands into his pockets and 
straightening up rather impressively, he went 
on: “Yer see, I want yer ter be like yer dad, 
fer I ’low the’ ain’t a man in this hayr deestrict 
thet ’s better ’n me when hit comes ter figerin’. 
I was jist a wonderin’ ef thet teacher was 
a-larnin’ ye anything. I tole them other d’rect- 
ers thet I ’bjected ter him, fer I did n’t ’low he 
was much when hit come ter figerin’, but they 
was sot on hevin’ him, so I hed ter give in. I 
’low I ’ll hev ter give ye a few examples ter find 
out ef yer lamin’, fer thet ’s the best way.” 

Tom winced, for he knew that his knowl- 
edge of arithmetic was very limited, and here 
was a test coming. He had learned to respect 
the teacher, and he knew it was not the teacher’s 
fault that his knowledge of this particular 


70 


The Call of the Hills 


branch of study was so limited. He also knew 
that his father disliked the teacher and was per- 
sistent in his efforts to arouse a feeling of dis- 
satisfaction in the district against him. 

Silas Westwood was a man who would have 
his way in all things or would cause a great deal 
of trouble. He was not very popular in the 
neighborhood because of his overbearing dis- 
position. Although he was very ignorant, there 
was not any subject too deep for him to discuss. 
He took especial delight in displaying his knowl- 
edge of arithmetic. 

“Come on in the house now, an’ while yer 
ma ’s gittin’ breakfast I wanter see what ye ’ve 
larnt ter skeul,” he said, as he started toward 
the house. Tom followed meekly. 

“Now take this ’n’,” said the father when 
they were seated beside the great open fireplace. 
“Ef a man buys three cows fer fifteen dollars 
a piece, an’ sells ’em fer nineteen a piece, how 
much does he make on ’em?” 

The words struck terror to the boy’s heart. 
He began to figure desperately, while his 
father looked on loftily. After some moments 


A Troublesome Director 71 

of silence the boy looked up helplessly and 
said : 

“I ’low I can’t git thet ’n’.” 

“Jist what I ’lowed,” replied the father, 
“but yer ourghter be doin’ ’em ef ye had the 
right kind of a teacher. I ’m goin’ up ter visit 
the skeul ter-day an’ see how things is bein’ car- 
ried on. Hit ’s jist as I ’lowed, fer I tole Phil 
Nettles he ’d be sorry thet he hired thet collige 
feller.” 

At this moment Mrs. Westwood, a thin little 
woman of meek appearance, came to the door 
leading from the kitchen to the living-room and 
addressed her husband in a subdued tone, “Silas, 
breakfast is waitin’ ef ye be ready fer hit.” 

Upon this announcement the father and son 
went into the kitchen, where the rest of the 
family were seated around a long pine table. 
There were five children besides Tom, all 
younger; among them was Ben, the little fellow 
who had caused the trouble between Tom and 
the teacher the first day of school. 

As the meal progressed, the head of the 
household lectured the family on their duties for 


72 


The Call of the Hills 


the day. “Nancy, I want yer ter sew them but^ 
tons on my Sunday coat. The’ come off some- 
how the las’ time I hed hit on.” He spoke to 
his wife. “Ben, yer do n’t fergit ter slop them 
hogs ’fore ye go ter skeul ; an’ Betty, ye be shore 
an’ feed them chickens.” And so he went on 
all through the meal. When he had finished he 
arose, took down his hat from a peg, and said 
to his wife: 

“I ’low I ’ll tend the skeul ter-day, as I 
hain’t got nuthin’ special ter do; an’ I jist got 
an’ idy hit needs lookin’ after, j edgin’ from the 
way Tom’s gittin’ on in his books.” 

“But, Silas, I ’lowed ye go ter the store ter- 
day, fer them aigs ourghter be tuk, an’ we need 
some things mighty bad,” remonstrated the wife. 

“I sed I was a-goin’ ter the skeul,” snapped 
the husband. “Ain’t I a d’recter, an’ ain’t hit 
my business ter see thet things is run right; an’ 
ef I see thet things is a-goin’ wrong, an’ do n’t 
go an’ tend ter hit, ain’t I ’sponsible? Hit’s 
a d’recter’s duty ter lay aside ever’thing when 
the skeul needs ’tendin’ tu. I know hit ’s mighty 
hard ter neglect my fambly fer the skeul, but 


A Troublesome Director 73 

I ’m a public servant an’ must do my duty.” 
He spoke the last with the air of a martyr. The 
wife went on with her household duties without 
saying anything further, for she had learned by 
long years of experience that when her husband 
set his head to a thing it was useless to waste 
words in trying to change him. 

Westwood went out to the barn and did a 
few little odd jobs until he was sure all the 
children had gone to school, and then he started 
up the path through the woods towards the 
schoolhouse. He arrived a few moments after 
school was taken up. In answer to his knock 
the master opened the door and, seeing who it 
was, very politely invited him in. The director 
tried very hard to look dignified as he sat in 
the chair which the master had given him; but 
with the curious eyes of the whole school upon 
him, it was a very hard thing to do. The 
teacher went on with his work as if there was 
no one present but the pupils. This had a 
rather bad effect on the composure of the di- 
rector. The latter had thought to embarrass the 
teacher by his presence, and then it would be 


74 


The Call of the Hills 


a very easy matter to find some trivial fault 
and call his attention to it before the school, 
and he felt sure that in the argument that would 
follow he could best the teacher, and then the 
children would bear the report to their several 
homes, and this would start a feeling of dissatis- 
faction against the teacher. Then it would be 
an easy matter to oust him. As he sat there 
trying to find some way to begin the execution 
of his plan he grew more uncomfortable every 
moment. At last, arriving at a stage bo’rdering 
on desperation, he decided that something must 
be done at once. The arithmetic class, of which 
Tom was a member, was at the board. A very 
simple problem had been given out by the 
teacher, and Westwood watched his son’s vain 
attempt to solve it. The master was watching 
him also, and intended to help him after he had 
had a reasonable time to try its solution. 

“Hit ’pears ter me thet ye ourghter help a 
scholar when he can’t git his example.” It was 
the director who spoke. The teacher turned 
and faced him as he quietly replied : 

“I always try to help them, Mr. West- 
wood.” 


A Troublesome Director 75 

“Wall, hit don’t ’pear ter me thet yo ’re 
tryin’ ter help that boy.” 

“I always give them a chance to do it with- 
out help, and then, when I find they can not, I 
help then.” 

“Wall, I ’low yer ain’t cut out fer a teacher, 
fer the skeul hain’t gittin’ along like hit 
ourghter.” The director’s courage seemed to 
be reviving. “You see, as I ’m president of 
the bo'ard, I feel the ’sponsibility restin’ on me, 
an’ I do n’t wanter see the skeul run down. 
Now, jedgin’ from what I ’ve seed this mornin’, 
ye ain’t jist the kind of man hit takes ter make 
a teacher. Of course, I hain’t no reason ter 
say thet yer hain’t a good young man, an’ mebbe 
yer kin keep good order in skeul, but the main 
thing air lamin’ the childern, an’ not keepin’ 
order. Hit ’pears ter me that yer hain’t lamin’ 
them ’nuff ’bout figerin’, an’ thet ’s ’bout the 
main study, I ’low. Now, I know ’bout this by 
the way my boy Tom is a-doin’. Wy, I jist give 
him the easiest kind of a example this mornin’, 
an’ he could n’t begin ter work hit; an’ now he ’s 
standin’ up there at thet board, not knowin’ a 


76 


The Call of the Hills 


thing ’bout thet ’n’ ye give him, an’ yer do n’t 
seem ter know how ter ’splain hit ter him. I 
tell ye thet hain’t no way ter keep skeul, young 
man.” 

He paused to see what effect his words were 
having on the teacher. He had lost all his em- 
barrassment now, and had assumed an air of 
superiority. Ray had been listening to his words 
very quietly. He suspected that the man did 
not like him and was devising some scheme that 
would ultimately cause him to lose his position. 

“Mr. Westwood, I think we had better talk 
this matter over alone.” And without waiting 
for the other to remonstrate, he tapped the bell 
for recess, and every pupil arose and filed out of 
the room, much to the chagrin of the director. 
He had not counted on this. It would spoil his 
plan, for he had counted on the children hearing 
the whole thing and reporting it to their parents. 
After the last pupil had gone outside, Ray 
turned to the other and said: 

“Now I feel we may talk plainly to each 
other. In regard to your son’s knowledge of 
arithmetic, let me say that there are some who 


A Troublesome Director 77 

do not take naturally to certain studies, and he 
certainly does not take to arithmetic. I have 
been doing my best to help him, but as yet he 
has not learned to have confidence enough in 
himself to use what little knowledge he has. 
It is quite natural that in this case he would 
not be able to solve the problem, no doubt know- 
ing it to be a test whereby you were going to 
judge the whole school and make a public ex- 
ample of him. Under ordinary conditions I am 
quite sure that he could solve it. As to the other 
members of the class, I could prove that they 
are rapidly advancing in their knowledge of this 
study.’’ 

Silas Westwood could barely conceal his 
anger and disappointment, but he realized that, 
since the pupils had been sent out, there was 
nothing to be gained by arguing; therefore he 
felt that he had better get out of it as easily as 
possible. 

“Wall, I jist thought hit was my duty ter 
come round and see ’bout things, as I was the 
president of the board,” he said, somewhat crest- 
fallen. 


78 


The Call of the Hills 


“I am glad to have you come, and will al- 
ways take great pleasure in explaining to you 
or any one else anything about the school.” 

“I ’low I ’d better be a-goin’ now, fer I hev 
ter go ter the store,” said the director, turning 
his hat uneasily in his hands as he arose to go. 
‘Ter know thet I ’m the kind of a feller thet 
sets a heap by lamin’, an’ thet ’s why I come up 
here ter see yer, fer I want this skeul ter be run 
es good es possible.” 

“That ’s all right, sir; I ’m glad you came,” 
replied Ray, trying hard not to smile at the 
other ’s change of manner. 

“Wall, good day!” And he was gone. His 
meek little wife was very much surprised to see 
him back so soon, but very wisely refrained from 
saying anything. 

As soon as the visitor was out of sight Ray 
rang the bell and resumed the work where he 
had left off. As the arithmetic class was called 
back to finish their work the teacher went to 
where Tom Westwood was working and said 
very kindly: 

“Now, Tom, let me help you. I ’m sure 


A Troublesome Director 79 

you can do this problem.” Then he very deftly 
guided the boy’s mind into reasoning it out. 

Whatever thought troubled him concerning 
the effect of the director’s visit upon the school 
was dispelled by a conversation he had with 
Roxy Nettles at noon that day. 

He was trying to read when he heard some 
one approaching his desk, and, raising his eyes 
from his book, he saw her standing before him. 

“Mr. Jones,” she began, “I know that you 
are afraid that what has happened this morning 
will not have a good effect upon the school. 
“Do n’t let that worry you, for all the pupils 
feel that it was very unkind of Mr. Westwood 
to talk to you as he did. Even Tom didn’t 
like it.” 

“I thank you. Miss Roxy, for telling me 
this, for I must confess that I was somewhat 
worried about it.” 

“I do n’t think the report of the affair which 
they will carry home will hurt you in the least. 
But there is something else I wanted to speak 
to you about that I almost forgot. My parents 


80 


The Call of the Hills 


told me to invite you to spend next Saturday 
and Sunday at our house.” 

“Tell them I shall be very glad to come,” 
he replied, very heartily. 

“I must get those algebra problems,” she 
said, turning back to her seat. 

When Ray had begun to teach the school he 
found that this girl had finished the work in 
the grades, and he had urged her to take up 
some high-school work, which she did, and was 
progressing very rapidly. As he watched her 
golden head bending over her book a strange 
new feeling filled his heart. What could it 
mean? Love? He cast the thought aside and, 
taking up his book again, tried to read; but on 
every page he could see a golden head and blue 
eyes. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE MEETING AT THE MILL 

UTUMN was slowly slipping into 
winter. There was a chill In the air 
that made one shiver. The leaves 
were beginning to change their luxu- 
riant dress of red and yellow for the somber 
brown. A thin sheet of Ice would appear on 
the creek which was fed by the spring at the 
foot of the hill, and by noon It would disappear 
under the gentle influence of the sun’s rays. It 
had been an exceedingly fine autumn, and while 
the days and nights were still beautiful, one had 
the feeling that they were soon to give way to 
the cold, bleak ones of winter. 

On one of these fine afternoons Ray decided 
that Instead of going directly home he would 
go by the Watkins home and see the old couple, 
for he had not visited them since the first Sab- 



6 


81 


82 


The Call of the Hills 


bath he had been in this community. He had 
met Uncle Jim once since that time, and the old 
man had asked him why he had not come back 
to see them, and had insisted on him coming 
soon. Ray had purposely avoided the little 
home on the creek, for he was afraid that Uncle 
Jim would again open up the subject of the pre- 
vious conversation, which had been so unpleas- 
ant for the teacher. Somehow on that afternoon 
he felt differently about it, for as he walked 
along he wondered if the old man would say 
anything about it; and as he thought that pos- 
sibly he would not, something like a feeling of 
disappointment came into his soul. In some way 
he had changed in his attitude to what he felt 
was his duty, since the day Roxy Nettles had 
tried to encourage him after his troubles with the 
director. These hill folks, upon whom he had 
looked with so much contempt, had begun to 
interest him, and the duty which meant a sacri- 
fice for him did not seem so unattractive now. 

He pushed along the path through the 
woods for a few moments, when suddenly he 
came to the brow of the hill. The scene which 


83 


The Meeting at the Mill 

lay before him was a peaceful one. He stood 
for a moment drinking it in before proceeding 
further. The sun was half hidden by the hill 
on the right, and its soft rays were kissing the 
tops of the highest trees in the valley. Nestled 
down on the bank of the creek, he saw the little 
cabin. A thin, blue ribbon of smoke was curling 
gracefully out of the chimney. He could see 
Uncle Jim out in the back yard getting an arm- 
ful of wood, and Aunt Sue was throwing corn 
from a pan she held in her hand to some 
chickens clustered about her feet. All at once 
a spirit of boyishness possessed the teacher, and, 
putting his fingers to his lips, he gave a long, 
loud whistle. Aunt Sue stopped feeding the 
fowls and looked upward. Uncle Jim dropped 
the stick he was just about to place on the pile 
in his arms and also looked upward. They saw 
him, for when Ray waved his hand to them 
they both returned the salute. As he hurriedly 
pushed down the hillside he saw them coming 
out to the side gate to meet him. 

“Wall, I do declar, ef hit ain’t the teacher,” 
said the old man, as Ray came nearer. 


84 


The Call of the Hills 


“We ’re powerful glad ter see you,” said 
the old lady. “Father said hit looked like yer 
was mad ’bout sompin’, er ye ’d been ’round 
’fore this time; but I ’lowed yer wasn’t thet 
kind thet ’ud git mad ’bout nuthin’.” 

“Yas,” chimed in the old man, without 
giving the teacher a chance to say anything, 
“mother ’pears ter hev a heap o’ respect fer yer. 
She ’lowed ye ’d come jist es soon es yer could.” 

Ray noticed Aunt Sue raise her glasses and 
wipe her eyes with her apron. Uncle Jim 
seemed to notice it also. 

“I ’low Mister Jones ’ll stay fer supper, 
mother.” 

“Yas, he must, an’ I ’ll go right in now an’ 
git it ready;” and with that the old lady hurried 
into the house. 

Her husband watched her until she disap- 
peared, and then he turned to Ray and said : 

“I ’low yer noticed thet mother was a leetle 
’fected when ye come up, an’ hit ’s fer this rea- 
son : yer so much like our boy whut ’s gone, 
an’ when yer stood up yander on top of thet 
hill an’ whistled, hit reminded us of the way 


The Meeting at the Mill 85 

he uster do when he ’d been gone somewhar an’ 
was a-comin’ back hum.” 

A tear stood in his eye as he spoke, and Ray 
was silent, for he felt that the old man’s 
thoughts were too sacred to be interrupted. 
Turning toward the house, he said: 

“Le’ ’s go in, fer hit won’t take long fer 
mother ter git supper ready.” 

When they were seated before a big, roaring 
fire the young man said: 

“It seems so good to get back here once 
more, fer this is the most homelike place in all 
this country to me.” 

“Wall, we ’re glad you feel thet a way ’bout 
hit, fer we ’re alius tickled ter hev yer come ter 
see us. Hit does us so much good. I wish 
yer ’d come oftener.” 

“I ’ll try to come oftener after this.” 

They talked on until supper was announced, 
but the old man never mentioned the subject they 
had discussed on the teacher’s previous visit. 
After supper Aunt Sue joined them as they sat 
before the fire. Ray sang for them, and as the 
old folks listened their faces were radiant with 


86 


The Call of the Hills 


delight. Sometimes, when he sang a hymn that 
was familiar to them, they joined in and sang 
with him. Ray had never enjoyed singing so 
much, and perhaps he had never sung with more 
feeling. As he sang “Where is my wandering 
boy to-night?” the tears streamed down the fur- 
rowed cheeks of the old people; and when he 
sang “Bring him to me in all his sin, and tell 
him I love him still,” a hearty “Amen” broke 
simultaneously from their lips. After he had 
finished that song the master arose to go, and 
as he shook their hands in good-bye they pressed 
invitations upon him to return very soon. Prom- 
ising to do so, he departed. 

It was a beautiful night. A full moon was 
shining and made it almost as light as day. The 
crisp night-air made one feel like moving along 
briskly. As Ray came to the old mill he thought 
he saw some one standing on the bank of the 
creek just above the wheel. As he drew nearer 
he saw a man who was looking down the road 
so intently that he did not notice the approach 
of the teacher. When he was only a few paces 


87 


The Meeting at the Mill 

away from where the man stood, the latter 
turned ; and as he did so the moonlight fell upon 
his face. Ray recognized his acquaintance from 
the East, Carson. He seemed as much surprised 
at the unexpected meeting as Ray, but was the 
first to speak. 

“Good evening, Mr. Jones; this is a fine 
evening.” Ray returned the salutation, and 
Carson went on as if he thought an explanation 
was in order: 

“I was just coming from Mr. Whiteside’s, 
on my way to Mr. Rupert’s, and was compelled 
by the beauty here to stop for a few moments.” 

“This is a very beautiful place a night like 
this,” returned Ray. 

“How do you like this country by this 
time?” continued the other. “I hope the un- 
fortunate affair at the apple peeling did not give 
you a bad impression of it.” 

“I like it very well,” replied the teacher, 
ignoring the last remark of the other. 

“I find it very slow and tiresome here, but 
my health is good, and for that reason I stay. 


88 


The Call of the Hills 


I came here In search of health, and you know 
one will put up with almost anything for the 
sake of health.” 

Ray had often wondered why this seemingly 
talented young man could content himself in 
this out-of-the-way place. The reason he gave 
sounded very plausible, but he did not look like 
a man of ill-health. The master noticed that all 
the time they were standing there, Carson ap- 
peared nervous and kept looking down the road 
as if he expected some one from that direction. 
He showed no sign of going on his way to 
Rupert’s. At last Ray said : 

“It is getting so late, I guess I ’ll be on 
my way.” 

Carson appeared at a loss to know just what 
to say, for he had no visible reason for staying, 
and he seemed to have no intention of going. 
As Ray began moving up the road, the other 
mumbled something about staying a little while 
longer. Ray could not but feel that the young 
man’s reasons for staying were such as would 
not bear inspection. When he made the turn 
in the road he could not refrain from turning 


89 


The Meeting at the Mill 

and looking back. He saw another man ap- 
proach where the latter was standing, and the 
two engaged in conversation. Several times 
they pointed in the direction which the teacher 
had gone. The latter was hidden from view 
by a tree. While he was watching he saw a 
third man appear, and then all three went into 
the mill. Ray went home that night with a 
heart full of forebodings as a result of this 
strange meeting. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ROXY’S HOME 

HE days went slowly by in their mo- 
notonous march to the past; one like 
the other to Ray. However, there 
was a vein of light shining down 
through them that made them bearable, and that 
was the anticipation of the visit to Roxy’s home 
on the coming Saturday. The master had often 
wondered why she was so unlike the other 
people of the neighborhood, and had finally de- 
cided that it was because of her home influence ; 
so he was anxious to see if this decision was cor- 
rect. When Saturday at last arrived, he arose 
very early, for he was going to Spring Bluff with 
Joe, and then walk from there to the Nettles 
homestead. As the big farm wagon jolted along 
over the rocks he inhaled the fresh, crisp morn- 
ing air, and it made him tingle from head to 
foot with new life. How great it was to live 



90 


91 


Roxy's Home 

in this beautiful old world! As they came out 
of the woods, about two hundred yards down 
the road appeared a little group of three build- 
ings, which the teacher knew must be Spring 
Bluff. A crowd oif Saturday loafers had already 
gathered on the porch in spite of the sting in the 
air. Some sat on boxes, others sat on the edge 
of the porch, letting their legs dangle down- 
ward. They seemed a perfectly contented lot as 
they indulged in their rural gossip, chewed their 
long green, and whittled. Ray spoke a greeting 
to the group, but none responded save Sam Car- 
son, who sat in their midst. He spoke in his 
usual bland manner. Bill Rupert, who sat near 
him, simply stared insolently. The teacher took 
no notice of him, for he had not taken a fancy 
to him at the first meeting, and he cared very 
little whether he spoke or not; but when he 
noticed the indifference with which John White- 
side treated his greeting, it made him feel dis- 
appointed, for he had liked John’s appearance 
from the start. The latter was engaged in con- 
versation with a young man, Sandy Rowen. 

“Yer say the’ ’s goin’ ter be a dance over ter 


92 


The Call of the Hills 


Rupert’s tomorrer night?” Ray heard him 
question as he passed by. 

“Yas,” replied Sandy; “an’ I ’low the ’s ter 
be some big doin’s. Ye be shore ter be thar. 
The fellers over on Dry Branch sent us word 
thet they was cornin’ ter break the hull thing up. 
Wa ’re ready fer ’em, ye bet; but ye git all the, 
fellers over on the ridge ye can ter come, fer 
we may need all the he’p we can git.” 

“Hev yer tole the teacher?” asked John, 
nodding his head toward the door, through 
which Ray had just disappeared into the store. 

“Naw,” drawled the other; “Rupert’s 
kinder got hit in fer him somehow, an’ he do n’t 
want him ’round.” Then, lowering his tone, 
as if he was afraid Rupert would hear him, he 
said: “Bill’s feared he’s goin’ ter beat him 
outen his gal, I ’low. The’ say thet all the gals 
is ’bout crazy arter him, ’specially Lou Simp- 
son.” Sandy was too busily engaged in whit- 
tling to notice how red John’s face got at the 
mention of Lou’s name. “I heerd thet he ’s 
givin’ her lessons ter home. ’Low he ’s edicatin’ 
her fer a teacher’s wife.” Here he punched 


93 


Roxy’s Home 

John in the ribs fer emphasis, and gave a little 
cackle which was meant for a laugh. Before it 
was well out of his mouth, John’s big, open hand 
collided with the back of his head, and Sandy 
found himself sprawling out in the road. The 
other loafers came to attention immediately, but 
none seemed willing to interfere. They all knew 
John, and they feared to arouse him. He was 
naturally a quiet, peaceable fellow, but when 
aroused was the mightiest man in the hills. He 
had arisen and was standing, looking out over 
the valley, his face working with rage. As 
Sandy arose from where he had fallen, he did 
so cautiously, as if he expected another blow 
from that mighty arm; but John paid no atten- 
tion to him. After standing a moment in silence 
he walked to his horse, which was tied to the 
rack across the road, mounted, and rode away. 
After he was gone. Bill Rupert spoke: 

“Whut ’s wrong, Sandy?” 

“Dunno. I was jist tellin’ him ’bout the 
hop, an’ he turned loose an’ handed me one 
when I was n’t lookin’.” 

“I ’ll jist bet my boots he would n’t hev rid 


94 


The Call of the Hills 


off thet away ef he ’d done me like he done ye,” 
said a big, rough-looking man, boastfully. 

“I wouldn’t say nuthin’ ef I was yer, Jig 
Jefferson. I ’low the boys hain’t f ergot how he 
done yer up once when ye was blowin’ ’round 
’bout bein’ sich a fighter,” spoke up Sandy, 
hotly. The bold one strode off into the store, 
as if he had just thought of something that he 
wanted to purchase. Turning to the others, 
Sandy said, fiercely: “See ef I don’t git him fer 
this yet. I hain’t done nuthin’ ter him, an’ I 
hain’t goin’ ter ’low no man ter slap me fer 
nuthin’.” 

All had happened so quietly and quickly 
that no one on the inside of the store knew what 
had happened without. Ray had found Mr. 
Nettles within, and after he had done the trad- 
ing that he had come to do, he announced that 
he was ready to go. Ray followed him out the 
back door, for he was going through the woods, 
as it was nearer than around by the road. They 
walked rapidly, and in a short time Ray had his 
first glimpse of Roxy’s home. 

It was a large, two-story frame house, which 


Roxy’s Home 95 

sat back from the road on a small knoll. A rail 
fence surrounded it; a red sandstone walk led 
from the rude gate to the front doorsteps. The 
yard was full of shrubbery. A few late autumn 
flowers were blooming beside the steps. Ray 
followed his host up the red sandstone walk 
into the house. Entering a big, cheery-looking 
room, he was greeted by a comely-looking 
woman of forty, that Mr. Nettles introduced as 
his wife. 

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones. We wel- 
come you to our home,” she said, pleasantly. 
“It is always a pleasure to us to have visitors, 
especially our school teacher.” As she spoke 
Ray could see the striking resemblance between 
her and Roxy; the same eyes and hair; the same 
intelligent, refined face, save for the more ma- 
tured look of the mother’s. When he had 
finished his mental comparison of mother and 
daughter he could not help but contrast the hus- 
band and wife. He was a large, rough man, 
and used the dialect of the hills, but seemed to 
be kind and gentle in the home and to adore 
his wife. 


96 


The Call of the Hills 


“Now yer make yerself ter hum,” he said, 
“fer I Ve got some work ter do thet can’t be 
put off fer another day. I ’low my wife can 
entertain yer,” he said, as he looked at her 
proudly, “an’ then Roxy ’ll be ter hum ’fore 
long. She jist went down on the crick ter see 
how the old Watkins folks air gittin’ ’long.” 

“That’s all right,” replied Ray; “I won’t 
be very hard to entertain. Please don’t let me 
interfere with the duties of any of the family.” 

“My husband and the boys are kept very 
busy,” said the wife as Nettles left the room. 
“They are farming a good deal of land, and 
when one thing is done there is always another 
to do,.” 

“I did not know that you had any boys in 
your home. I thought Miss Roxy the only 
child.” 

“No, she is not. I have two sons, both older 
than Roxy. You will meet them when they 
come in for dinner. And that reminds me that 
it is almost dinner time; so you will have to 
excuse me while I go to the kitchen and get it 
ready.” 


97 


Roxy’s Home 

When Ray was left alone he began to look 
around the room. A rag carpet covered the 
floor; the furniture was neatly arranged; cur- 
tains hung over the windows; a nicely-worked 
cover hung from the mantle, on which a row 
of books was placed. Pictures decorated the 
walls. In all, it had an air of refinement that 
was not customary for the homes of the hills. 
He was right in his decision that it was the home 
influence that made Roxy unlike her associates. 
He went to the mantle and, selecting a volume 
of Longfellow’s poems, seated himself and be- 
gan to read. He did not get much out of the 
book, however, for his thoughts were not on 
its contents. He was thinking of the oppor-» 
tunity he had of making more of these homes 
like the Nettles home. He was really beginning 
to see visions of the ideal condition of this neigh- 
borhood. He wondered why John Whiteside 
was acting so strangely toward him, and what 
was the matter with Bill Rupert. He felt like 
he could help them both to a higher life, if only 
permitted to do so. And why was Sam Carson 
allowed to impose himself upon these simple 


7 


98 


The Call of the Hills 


folks, no doubt leading many of the young men 
into ways of sin and crime that could be won 
for some noble cause if Carson’s influence could 
somehow be removed? Was Uncle Jim’s boy 
still alive? And if so, was there not some way 
to bring him back? Oh, the work that could 
be done for humanity and God amid these hills 
if some one was willing to do it! He thought 
that he might do it if the sacrifice was not so 
great, for he was confident that he had been 
called to the work; but how could he afford to 
give up all his long-cherished ambitions for the 
sake of these people ? He was aroused from his 
thoughts by heavy footsteps and men’s voices in 
the other room. Presently Mrs. Nettles ap- 
peared in the doorway and invited him to dinner. 
Laying his book aside, he went into the kitchen, 
where he met the two young men of the family. 
George, the elder, a man of twenty-two, was tall 
and broad, and was very much like his father. 
Dan, who was two years younger, was more on 
the order of the mother and sister. 

“There is to be another dance over at our 
neighbor’s to-morrow night,” said Dan, as they 


Roxy’s Home 99 

were all seated at the table. “I saw Jig Jeffer- 
son, and he was telling me about it.” 

“I guess there ’ll be trouble, as usual,” re- 
marked George; “for the Dry Branch fellows 
will be there if they hear about it.” 

“They ’ve done sent word that they ’re com- 
ing.” 

“It is dreadful to think that it is impossible 
to have anything around here without a dis- 
graceful fight,” said the mother. 

“Why, mother, it ’s never very serious; they 
never kill,” said George, with a smile at his 
mother. 

“But some have been pretty badly hurt,” 
suggested Dan, seriously. “The Ruperts wanted 
John Whiteside to come over and help them 
out; but they are doubtful whether or not he 
will come, for in some way Sandy Rowen made 
him mad, and he knocked Sandy off the store 
porch into the road. You know Rowen is the 
one that is getting the dance up.” 

“I did n’t see no fightin’ at the store this 
mornin’,” said the father. “Did yer. Mister 
Jones?” 


100 


The Call of the Hills 


“Why, no, I did n’t,” replied Ray. “I saw 
John Whiteside and a red-headed fellow sitting 
on the edge of the porch talking as I went into 
the store, but they did not seem to be having 
any trouble.” 

“Well, I guess it was after you went in. 
There ’s never much noise to John when he is 
fighting, and he scares the other fellow into 
being still,” said Dan. 

Ray went out to the bam with the boys 
after the meal had ended, and while they were 
hitching up the team he chatted with them. He 
found them to be very agreeable and intelligent 
conversationalists. After they had gone to the 
field, the teacher decided to take a walk in the 
woods. Accordingly he set out down the road. 
He discovered a little path turning off from the 
road into the woods, and entered it. 

The trees were almost bare, the sweet- 
throated songster that a little while ago had 
made the woodland ring with cheerful music had 
gone. The wild flower that had freighted each 
passing breeze with its perfume, and had de- 
lighted the eye with its gorgeous splendor, was 


Roxy’s Home 101 

withered and broken. A few of the sturdier 
ones had left little brown stocks as monuments 
of past glory. All was silent now. How lonely 
was the scene! As Ray walked on, the gloom 
and loneliness of the woods seemed to settle 
down over him. He thought of himself as away 
from home, in the midst of strangers, and the 
old feeling of homesickness took possession of 
him. So bent upon his gloomy thoughts was 
he that he failed to see a young woman ap- 
proaching. When he at last became aware of 
her approach, he looked up with a start. 

“Do n’t get frightened, Mr. Jones; it is only 
I,” said Roxy, laughing at his startled condition. 

“I was n’t frightened in the least, but was 
so lost in thought that I did not realize for a 
moment where I was when you approached,” 
he said, joining her in the laugh. 

She made a beautiful picture as she stood 
there in that lonely, desolate spot. The red 
hood had slipped from her head and hung sus- 
pended by the strings down her back ; her golden 
hair was parted neatly and was caught up with 
a red ribbon at the back of her head ; her cheeks 


102 


The Call of the Hills 


were as rosy as the clouds when tinted by the 
sun on a summer evening; her dress was of blue 
calico, but was very much more becoming than 
silk or satin would have been. 

“When did you come?” she questioned. 

“This forenoon.” 

“I have been down to Uncle Jim’s. I sup- 
pose mother told you. I intended to get home 
earlier, but the old people seemed so anxious for 
me to stay that I could n’t leave any sooner.” 

“How are they to-day?” 

“They are as usual, I suppose; but they 
worry so much over their lost boy. They love 
so much to have you come, for they say that 
you remind them of him so much. They told 
me how much good your last visit did them 
when you sang.” 

“What about that boy?” said Ray, rather 
abruptly. “I heard them mention something 
about him, and saw how it affected them; so I 
did not ask them anything about him, but am 
anxious to know something about the affair.” 

“Well,” replied Roxy, slowly, “it ’s a rather 
long story if I were to go into details. I ’ll not 


103 


Roxy’s Home 

do that, for it would not interest you anyway; 
but if you are going back to the house I ’ll tell 
you the main facts as we walk.” All this time 
they had been standing where they had met, and 
as they started toward the girl’s home, she be- 
gan her story : 

“The old couple came here from Tennessee 
many years ago when they were young married 
people, and settled where they are living at the 
present time. Later Uncle Jim built the old 
mill and began to grind for the neighborhood. 
Through the years that followed, seven sons 
were born. All died in infancy save the last- 
born. The dear old couple idolized him and 
did everything they could to make him grow up 
into a good man. Uncle Jim was bent on mak- 
ing a preacher out of him, but the boy was in- 
clined to be wild. When he was only fourteen 
he would go to St. Clair or Union or some other 
town, and stay until his father would go after 
him. As he approached manhood he would 
leave, and be gone a few weeks, but would 
always turn up. He was a bright boy in school ; 
always led in his classes. He was good-hearted. 


104 


The Call of the Hills 


and made everybody like him. He would never 
take up with the boys of this community, but 
when he was not gone on one of his trips he was 
constantly at home. They could never tell when 
he was going to leave, for he would seem to be 
just as contented as could be, and suddenly they 
would find him missing. When he returned 
from these trips he was always dressed well, and 
would say that he was away at work. One 
morning about five years ago he left his home, 
saying that he was going to the postoffice, and he 
has never been seen or heard of since that time.” 

The teacher was listening intently to the nar- 
ration. When she paused, he asked, “And 
have n’t they any idea of his whereabouts?” 

“No. All kinds of stories were afloat for 
a while, but none of them were ever confirmed.” 

“What is your opinion ?” he asked, pointedly. 

“Well,” she replied, thoughtfully, “I be- 
lieve he is alive and will be restored to his par- 
ents again some day. Such prayers as they pray 
will not go unanswered by the Heavenly Father 
who cares for us.” Then, facing Ray, she spoke 
words that surprised him very much. “I feel 


Roxy’s Home 105 

that you might aid greatly in bringing him 
back,” she said. 

“I? How could I do such a thing, Miss 
Roxy?” 

“I can’t tell you how; but I felt that God 
had sent you here to do a work for our people, 
and that if you would let Him, He might show 
you how you could bring Don Watkins back 
to his parents. Oh, you can not tell how much 
our people need some Moses to lead them out 
of this bondage of ignorance and sin!” The 
girl was looking at him, and in her big blue eyes 
there was a pleading look. He did not speak, 
but turned his head away. The girl spoke 
again : 

“Have you ever felt that God wanted you 
to help us?” 

They were nearing the house now. He 
opened the gate for her to pass through. She 
stopped and faced him, waiting for an answer. 
He spoke one word haltingly: 

“Yes.” 

She turned and walked toward the house, 
and he followed. 


CHAPTER IX 


DARK DAYS 

N the Monday following his visit to 
the Nettles home, Ray awoke later 
than usual. As he looked out of the 
little window of his room he saw that 
the ground was covered with the first snow of 
the season. It was still snowing, and as he 
looked at the sullen sky he felt sure that It would 
continue to do so for some time. As he dressed 
himself, a frown settled down on his brow and 
a heavy weight seemed to be bearing down on 
his heart. He wanted to get away from that 
place before his purpose In life was entirely 
gone; he felt that for some time It had been 
slowly ebbing away, and he was yielding to the 
call of duty. Only two days before he had con- 
fessed to a mere girl that he was sure God 
wanted him to work for the redemption of these 
hill people. In some way — he could not under- 
stand just how — she had forced him to make the 
106 



107 


Dark Days 

confession; and now she knew, others would 
know ; and what would they think of a man who 
knew his duty and then refused to do it? What 
would Lou think? Had he not tried to impress 
upon her that she must do the things she knew 
to be her duty if she wanted to be good? When 
she found out that he was a hypocrite she would 
despise him and would lose all faith in the doc- 
trine he had taught her. What would his own 
folks at home think when they heard that he 
had run from duty? It would almost break their 
hearts, for they had always taught him, both 
by precept and example, that he should do his 
duty, no matter what the cost. What would his 
Heavenly Parent think? He might in some 
way deceive all others, but He knew and could 
see him shirking duty like a coward, selling out 
to the enemy, as Judas had done, for the vanish- 
ing things of earth. The thought of being a 
traitor was disgusting to him, and he was willing 
to strike a compromise with God. He got down 
on his knees and tried to tell Him that he would 
serve Him in the great cause of humanity if He 
would let him choose a more desirable place than 


108 


The Call of the Hills 


these hills. It seemed his words were thrown 
back at him. He arose, conscious that it must 
be a full surrender; that no compromise would 
be considered. In this gloomy state of mind he 
went out to breakfast. None of the family were 
in save Lou. She looked tired and worn, for 
she had come from the Rupert dance only an 
hour or so before. Ray greeted her with a 
simple “Good morning!” and sat down at the 
table. She poured out his coffee and then sat 
down near the stove, heaving a long sigh. 
Leaning forward, with her elbows resting on 
her knees and her chin in her hands, she stared 
gloomily into the fire. For a time Ray ate in 
silence, his mind full of his own dark thoughts ; 
then the thought of the predicted fight at the 
dance flashed through his mind, and immediately 
his curiosity was awakened, and he turned his 
head toward her as he spoke : 

“Did you have a good time at the dance last 
night?” 

“No,” replied the girl, wearily. “I ’m get- 
ting tired of these dances they have around here. 
All they do is fight.” He could not help but con- 


109 


Dark Days 

trast the girl as she sat there, so dejectedly and 
yet with a certain dignity, with the Lou Simp- 
son he had met only three months before. How 
decidedly her language was improving, and in- 
stead of blushing and giggling, as she used to 
do when any one addressed her, she could now 
talk and act fairly intelligently. Something like 
a gleam of satisfaction for a moment flashed 
through the gloom that enshrouded him, as he 
recognized the results of his own instruction. 

“Did they have a fight last night?” he asked. 

“Well, I just reckon they did,” she replied, 
raising herself into an upright position as she 
spoke. “You just ought to saw John Whiteside. 
My, but he ’s a mighty fighter when he gets 
started 1 He was n’t thinking of fighting till 
they made him. He was sitting in a corner all 
by himself,” continued the girl, warming up to 
the theme. “The Dry Branch boys started the 
row and was fighting hard, but John never paid 
any attention to them, and I know he did n’t 
reckon on having anything to do with it. I was 
standing in one corner behind a table. Crazy 
Jake was standing just in front of the table. 


110 


The Call of the Hills 


leaning against it. One of the Dry Branch boys 
was fighting Sandy Rowen, and as they come 
tussling past where Jake was standing, Sandy 
jumped on the other side of Jake just as the 
other fellow struck. The lick that was meant 
for Sandy hit Jake. The Dry Brancher never 
noticed who it was that he hit, but kept right 
on at Jake, while Sandy slipped over to the other 
side pf the room. I know he done it to get John 
started. John did n’t see how Sandy had caused 
the fellow to hit Jake, for he was n’t looking in 
that direction; but when he heard Jake cry out, 
he turned just in time to see his brother falling. 
He sprang at the man who had done it, and 
with one lick he floored him; then he stooped 
and picked Jake up and put him on the table. 
After that he went into them Dry Branch fel- 
lows and laid them out one at a time. My, but 
it was fine to see him clean them up after they 
had been so smart to try and break up the 
dance !” Her eyes glistened with admiration as 
she recited the mighty deeds of John. “As he 
was doing up the last man somebody shot a 
pistol, and John dropped to the floor like he 


Ill 


Dark Days 

was dead. That stopped the fighting. When 
they picked him up they found a bullet-hole in 
his side. Oh, I hope he wont die! Do you 
think it will kill him?” she asked Ray, in half 
pleading voice. 

“I ’m sure I do n’t know just how serious it 
is, but it ’s very possible that it may not prove 
fatal if it did not strike some of his vitals.” 

“I think,” said the girl, “that it was Sandy 
Rowen who fired the shot, for I saw him stand- 
ing in the shadow of the stairs about the time 
it happened, and I am sure I saw something 
bright in his hand that looked like a pistol just 
a few seconds before the shot was fired. After 
it happened, Sandy never showed up any more ; 
so it looks like it was him.” 

The girl’s accusation brought back to Ray’s 
mind the story Dan Nettles had told of how 
John had knocked Sandy off the store porch, and 
it might be possible that he had taken this means 
of getting even. 

“Might it not have been possible that one 
of the Dry Branch boys did it?” 

“No; I don’t think so. It was Sandy 


112 


The Call of the Hills 


Rowen, and I ’d almost swear to it.” And then 
she added, as Ray arose to go, “I do hope John 
won’t die.” He thought he saw tears in her 
eyes as she spoke. “Won’t you go to see him 
after school this evening?” 

He was at a loss just how to answer for a 
moment. Then he said, “I would be glad to 
go, but John seems to be angry with me about 
something, and perhaps he would not want me 
to come.” 

“That ’s just why I want you to go, for 
some one has told him something about you that 
has made him mad, and I want you to go and 
tell him it ain’t so.” And then, hiding her face 
in her hands and sobbing, she went on: “Mister 
Jones, you have been so kind to me. You 
showed me how ignorant I was, and have helped 
me to learn a little. You have told me of a 
higher life than what I ’m living, and made me 
anxious to live that life. You taught me to 
know my own heart; and now, since I know it, 
I feel that all the love it contains is John’s.” 
Ray was affected by the girl’s distress, and he 
replied very gently: 


113 


Dark Days 

“Well, if I have helped you so much I am 
very glad; and as far as John is concerned, I 
think he is really a good fellow and worthy of 
your love, and I am very sorry he dislikes me.” 

“Don’t you know why he is mad?” she 
asked, looking up through her tear-dimmed eyes. 

“No.” 

“Well,” she spoke, hesitatingly, “he thinks 
you are trying to beat his time with me, and he 
thinks that I love you. I think Sam Carson has 
put this into his head. I have wanted to tell 
him different, but I just could not get up the 
courage to do it, for if I would tell him that 
I did not love you, I ’m afraid I would have to 
tell him all — and you taught me that it would 
not be ladylike for me to do that.” 

“I ’ll try to get a chance to explain all to 
him when he gets well enough to have visitors. 
I must be going, or I ’ll be late for school.” 

As he pushed on toward the schoolhouse 
through the falling snow, the conflict between 
duty and ambition revived again. He fought 
every inch of the ground, but felt that the forces 
on the side of duty were slowly but surely over- 


8 


114 


The Call of the Hills 


powering his ambitious self, and that soon he 
must disgracefully retreat from the battleground 
or make an unconditional surrender. As he was 
entering the woods that crowned the hill which 
he was ascending, he turned and looked across 
the valley. It was desolate-looking, wrapped In 
Its blanket of snow. The trees on the opposite 
hill seemed to stretch forth their bare arms to 
him appealingly. The very hills themselves 
seemed to tell him of their needs. He plunged 
Into the woods and walked rapidly to the school- 
house. There were only a few pupils present, 
and he felt a certain sense of relief when he 
noted that Roxy was one among the missing. 
He knew that to be In her presence all day, when 
he was engaged In such a conflict, meant sure 
defeat for self. 

The week passed on In this manner. Some 
days the battle raged fiercely as some Imaginary 
reinforcement to ambition seemed to arise, and 
then all was quiet for a time, as If both forces 
were resting. By the end of the week he looked 
as If he had been through a spell of sickness, 
but the victory had not as yet settled on either 
side. 


CHAPTER X 


BILL RUPERT’S THREAT 

ATE one afternoon not long after the 
dance, Bill Rupert walked down the 
snow-packed road that passed the 
Nettles home. He walked rapidly at 
first, as if he was afraid that he would get to 
his destination behind time. When he came in 
sight of the Nettles house he slowed up, and as 
he saw Roxy come out the door and start toward 
the road he so measured his steps that he was 
beside her when she came out into the road. 

“Evenin’, Roxy!” he said, as the two met. 

“Good evening, Bill!” she replied, without 
stopping, but proceeding to walk down the road 
a little in advance of him. 

“Ef ye air a-goin’ down the road, ’low yer 
won’t hev no kick ’bout my walkin’ ’long side 
o’ ye, will yer?” he said, with a look of triumph 
in his eye. 



115 



116 


The Call of the Hills 


“Why, no, I do n’t suppose I will,” was the 
answer. 

For a short time they walked on in silence. 
She acted as if her mind was occupied with 
thoughts that had better not be uttered, and he 
as if he were trying to sum up courage enough 
to speak of something that bore heavily upon 
his mind. At last he broke the silence: 

“I ’low ef I was the teacher yer ’d be right 
glad ye was walkin’ ’long hayr.” The words 
came in a sneering tone. A hot flush mounted 
to her cheek, but she answered him quietly : 

“Perhaps I would.” 

Rupert did not expect such an answer, for he 
looked bewildered for a moment, but made an- 
other attempt: 

“I ’low he do n’t keer much fer ye gals 
’round hayr. Sam Carson says he is a-goin’ ter 
marry some gal back whar he come from.” 

Roxy walked on, looking straight before 
her, and made no reply. Rupert seemed to be 
encouraged, for he went on: 

“John Whiteside ’s a-goin’ ter tend ter him 
jist as soon as he gits well, fer gittin’ Lou Simp- 


Bill Rupert’s Threat 117 

son turned agin him. Yer know John’s crazy 
’bout Lou.” 

“I do n’t believe he has done any such 
thing,” replied the girl, with feeling. “Mr. 
Jones is a gentleman, and I do n’t believe he is 
guilty of anything so base.” 

“Wall, Sandy Rowen was up ter Simpson’s 
t’ other day, an’ he said Lou was a-talkin’ ter 
him, an’ she talks jist as good as the teacher 
does. He ast her whut made her talk so good, 
an’ she said that the teacher was givin’ her les- 
sons ter home.” 

“Because he is teaching her to talk properly 
is no proof that he is trying to steal her affec- 
tions from John.” 

“Wall, she do n’t hev nuthin’ to do with him 
any more. They was n’t together any at the 
dance t’ other night.” 

“Then it was for some other reason, for I 
am sure it is not Mr. Jones’s fault. Here is 
where I stop,” she added, as she turned in at 
the house of a neighbor, where she was bent on 
some errand. 

Bill watched her go up the path to the house 


118 


The Call of the Hills 


and disappear within, and then he continued his 
walk alone. His soul was filled with rage, for 
he had failed in his purpose to injure the teacher 
in the opinion of Roxy, and he had certainly not 
helped his own cause. Muttering curses to him- 
self, he turned off into the path that led down 
to Spring Creek, the same path on which a short 
time ago Ray had walked with Roxy. As he 
swung along through the snow he did not notice 
a man coming down the path which led into the 
one on which he was walking. When the two 
were within a few feet of each other, Rupert 
raised his eyes from the ground and looked into 
the eyes of the man that he desired to ruin. 
Both men stopped instantly and looked at each 
other, each waiting for the other to speak. It 
was not in the make-up of Ray to fear another 
man, and he waited rather impatiently for the 
other to start whatever he intended to do. Ru- 
pert’s previous actions had warned him that for 
some reason, unknown to him, there would be 
trouble the first opportunity that presented itself. 

“Kinder outer yer beat, ain’t yer?” Rupert 
spoke at last. 


119 


Bill Rupert’s Threat 

“I do n’t think so. I often go down to the 
Watkins home after school, and I always go 
this way.” 

“I ’low yer do n’t go down there ever’ time 
yer out this-a-way, do ye?” 

“Well, perhaps not every time.” Ray saw 
that Rupert was trying hard to lead him into a 
quarrel, and he determined not to be led. 

After a moment Rupert spoke again. This 
time he did not try to conceal his wrath: “Yer 
know whut I mean, I ’low ; so yer need n’t try 
ter make me b’leve yer do n’t. Ye go ter Net- 
tles’s sometime, do n’t yer?” 

“Why, yes; I have been there once or twice.” 

“Once or twict?” retorted the other. “I 
’low ye hev been there once or twict, an’ then 
some. I ’d like ter know whut yer doin’ up 
thar.” 

“Why, I find it a very pleasant place to go,” 
replied Ray, quietly. 

“I ’low yer do,” sneered Rupert. “It 
would n’t be so pleasant ef hit was n’t fer Roxy 
bein’ thar, would hit?” 

“Perhaps not.” 


120 


The Call of the Hills 


His composure seemed to cause the other 
man to lose his head completely, and this time 
when he spoke his body trembled with rage, and 
as he advanced a step nearer Ray, his fist 
was doubled up as if ready to strike a blow. 

“The’ ain’t no use wastin’ words, teacher,” 
he began, “an’ I ’m jist a-goin’ tef tell yer sum- 
pin’ fer yer own good. The best thing fer yer 
ter do is ter leave this diggin’ jist es soon es 
yer can.” 

“Mr. Rupert, will you kindly tell me why 
you would have me to leave?” Not a sign of 
the inward conflict showed on his person as the 
teacher spoke, for he was fighting against a de- 
sire to give this insulting young man a thrashing, 
as he felt he was able to do. 

“Wy, ye ’ve got all the gals ’round hayr 
crazy ’bout yer, an’ us fellers ain’t a-goin’ ter 
stand hit. Ye ’ve caused Lou Simpson ter quit 
John Whiteside, an’ Roxy Nettles won’t hardly 
look at me.” 

Somehow, as the truth broke upon the mas- 
ter, a great pity replaced the indignation he had 
held in his heart against this ignorant man. A 


Bill Rupert’s Threat 121 

longing to help him sprang up in place of the 
desire to strike him. He felt guiltless concern- 
ing the accusation that he was trying to steal 
the affections of Lou; but how about Roxy? 
He felt a strange sweetness fill his heart every 
time he thought of her; and now, as this man 
had come to tell him he must leave her forever^ 
he was sure it was, and perhaps he had uncon- 
sciously been trying to win her. 

“Rupert,” he said at last, with a certain firm- 
ness in his tone, “I am not going to leave. I 
have come here to teach this school, and I intend 
to do so. I want to be a help to this community 
if I can, and I wish you would let me help you. 
I do n’t believe that you are a bad fellow at 
heart, but you are being influenced by one who 
claims to be your friend, but is leading you on 
to ruin.” Here Rupert’s lips moved as if he 
was about to speak, but Ray kept on: “If you 
care for Roxy Nettles and will cut loose from 
these evil influences and try to be a man worthy 
of her, I will do my best to help you win her.” 
Ray was surprised at his own words when he 
had finished; they seemed to come without an 


122 


The Call of the Hills 


effort, but later he realized what a sacrifice It 
meant for him. 

Rupert stood staring at him now as If he 
was trying to figure out just what kind of a man 
this teacher was. Then he said: 

“Whut do yer take me fer? I don’t want 
none o’ yer help, an’ ef ye knowed jlst whut 
was good fer yer, yer ’d leave this place ’fore 
mornln’.” 

“Well, you can put It down that I ’m not 
going,” was the firm reply. “I do n’t claim to 
be any fighter, but I do n’t propose to be run 
out of this country by a pack of cowards such 
as sent you here with this threat.” And then, 
extending his hand toward his angry opponent, 
he went on: “I ’m ready to be your friend and 
help you. Bill, If you will let me.” 

“I do n’t want yer help,” said the other, 
fiercely, as he struck the offered hand aside. 
Then, turning, he went rapidly up the path In 
the direction from which he had come. It was 
growing late, and the master heard him mutter- 
ing curses and threats as he disappeared In the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER XI 


A VOICE FROM THE PIT 



>N the same evening that Bill Rupert 
' met the teacher, Uncle Jim and his 
wife were sitting before a big blazing 
I fire In their little home on Spring 
Creek; the old man In his big armchair, smok- 
ing, and the old lady near him with an open 
Bible on her knees. She had paused a moment 
In her reading and let her glasses rest In the 
edge of her gray hair, their accustomed place 
when not In use. Uncle Jim awoke from the 
reverie Into which he had fallen as she read, 
took his pipe from his lips, yawned, looked at 
the big clock on the mantle, and said: 

“Wall, mother. It’s might’ nigh nine o’clock; 
’bout time ter go ter bed, I ’low.” 

“Yas, I ’low hit Is,” replied the wife. She 
let her glasses rest on her nose once more and 


123 



The Call of the Hills 


124 

began to turn the leaves of the Bible in search 
of a chapter to read aloud for the evening de- 
votion. Suddenly she stopped in her search, 
arose, and went to the front door, opened it, and 
leaned out into the darkness for a moment. 
Then closing it, she came back to her chair, as 
she said: 

“I kinder thought I heerd some one holler.” 

“I ’low you must hev been mistaken, fer I 
did n’t hear nuthin. Mebbe hit ware a cata- 
mount. I heered Joe Simpson tellin’ thet he 
seed one crossin’ the crick down by the mill 
t’ other night. He did n’t hev his gun ’long, 
so he could n’t kill hit.” 

Aunt Sue had decided on the chapter by this 
time and began to read: “Unto Thee will I 
cry, O Lord, my Roek ; be not silent to me ; lest 
if Thou be silent I become like them that go 
down into the pit.” Just as she finished the first 
verse of this Psalm a faint sound was heard by 
both. The old man arose, took down his musket 
from the rack above the door leading into the 
kitchen, and proceeded through the kitchen to 
the back door, his wife following him. For a 


A Voice from the Pit 125 

moment both stood silent in the doorway, with 
strained ears to catch the faintest sound. They 
had not long to wait, for a cry of “Help !” was 
borne down the hillside on the crisp night-air. 

“Hit ain’t no catamount, father, but some- 
body thet ’s in trouble.” 

“Hit sounds as if they was up there among 
them old prospectin’ pits. Git the lantern, 
mother, an’ I ’ll go up an’ see who ’t is.” 

The voice was heard again, this time fainter, 
as if the source from whence it came was grow- 
ing weaker. 

“Hurry up, father,” said the old lady as 
she handed him the old tin lantern; “he must 
be hurt. Mebbe I ’d better go ’long with you.” 

“Per’aps ye had, fer I ’m not as strong as 
I uster be, an’ I might need some help.” 

Aunt Sue hastily threw on an old shawl, and 
together they began slowly to ascend the steep 
hill behind the house. The old prospecting pit 
of which the old man had spoken was about a 
hundred yards to the right of the path that led 
up the hill. It was therefore necessary, in order 
to reach the pit from the bottom of the hill, to 


126 


The Call of the Hills 


go over the rough, stony ground where no path 
had ever been made, for it was about half way 
up the side of the hill, and the only path that 
approached it was from the top. The old 
couple struggled bravely on through the un- 
broken snow. Once the old man broke through 
a crust which had formed over a hole and sank 
in up to his knee. Had he not grasped a nearby 
sapling for support, his leg might have been 
broken. 

“Hit ’s powerful strange he do n’t holler no 
more,” said Uncle Jim after they had succeeded 
in getting within a few yards of the pit. 

“Mabbe he can’t holler no more,” was the 
sad rejoinder. A few more steps brought them 
to the brink of what seemed in the light of the 
dim lantern to be a yawning chasm, but in reality 
was only a hole eight or ten feet square and 
about five or six feet deep. Such pits were 
common in that section of the country. Mining 
companies had sent men out through those hills 
prospecting for lead, and after digging down a 
few feet, if the indications were unfavorable, 
they would leave the hole and go elsewhere. 


A Voice from the Pit 


127 


As the old man held the lantern over the 
edge of the pit its rays did not reach to all parts 
of it; but as they stood silently trying to pierce 
the darkness in the remote corners, they heard 
a faint moan coming from one of the opposite 
corners. 

“Hit ’s somebody fell inter this hole,” said 
the old man. “I ’ll see ef I can’t git down an’ 
lift him out ef yer ’ll hold the lantern, mother.” 

“Be keerful, father,” and the old lady took 
the lantern, while the old man caught hold of 
an extended root and began to let himself down 
carefully until he felt his feet sink down into 
the snow and leaves that had settled on the bot- 
tom. After assuring himself of his footing he 
took the lantern from his wife and proceeded 
cautiously to the corner from where the moaning 
seemed to come. As the feeble ray of the lan- 
tern struggled through the darkness, it revealed 
the form of a man lying prone in the snow. 
Uncle Jim approached him and knelt down, and 
as the light fell upon the pallid face he turned 
his head in the direction of his wife and said, in 
excited tones: 


128 


The Call of the Hills 


“Hit ’s the teacher, an’ he looks ter me as 
ef he is might’ nigh gone.” 

Aunt Sue received the news with a little cry 
of pain and said: 

“Oh, father, whut can we do? Do yer ’low 
yer can lift him out?” 

“I ’ll try,” was the reply. In his younger 
days Jim Watkins had been noted for his won- 
derful strength, but the rheumatism and Father 
Time had wrought upon him until he was only 
a shadow of his former self. Necessity and ex- 
citement often cause a man to do things that 
under ordinary circumstances would be impos- 
sible. Uncle Jim could never understand just 
how he got the teacher out of that pit and down 
the hill and into his own home. He seemed to 
be endowed with superhuman strength, or per- 
haps his strength of former days had returned 
for the moment to assist him. Be that as it 
may, it was not with him long, for as soon as 
he saw the teacher placed safely on the lounge 
before the fire he sank almost helpless into a 
chair, and for a time the old lady’s attention was 


A Voice from the Pit 129 

divided between the young man on the lounge 
and the old man in the chair. Presently the old 
man rallied, and as he looked at the helpless 
form on the lounge he said: 

“Air he hurt much, mother?” 

“I b’leve his leg ’s broke an’ he ’s ’most 
froze ter death. No tellin’ how long he laid 
up thar in thet hole.” 

“I ’low he ourghter hev the docter. Mebbe 
I ’d better try ter go fer him.” He made a 
painful attempt to rise, but fell back weakly. 
“I do n’t ’low I can stir. ’Pears ter me thet I ’ve 
strained my back.” 

“No, father, yer can’t go,” the wife replied, 
as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder as if 
to prevent him from making a second attempt 
to rise. “We ’ll jist hev ter trust the Lord an’ 
wait tel He sends us some help. His heart 
’pears ter be more reg’lar now, an’ he ’s gittin’ 
warmer,” she continued, as she took the 
teacher’s hand in hers. “Mebbe we ’d better 
finish our evenin’ worship now.” She took up 
the Bible from a chair, where she had laid it 


9 


130 


The Call of the Hills 


when they had heard the teacher’s cry for help. 
She turned to the Twenty-eighth Psalm, which 
she had been reading, and began : 

“Hear the voice of my supplications when 
I cry unto Thee.” When she came to the 
seventh verse it seemed that the sentiment of 
her heart was going up to the Supreme Helper : 
“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my 
heart trusteth in Him, and I am helped.” As 
she finished the psalm the look of worry and 
anxiety that had overspread her face gave way 
to one of peace and trust. 

“I ’low the Lord ’ll hear ye, father, ef yer 
set in yer cheer an’ pray, seein’ yer can’t wall 
help hit.” She came and knelt down by her 
husband’s chair. The old man reverently bowed 
his head and in a weak, trembling voice prayed. 
He asked God to look with mercy upon them in 
their helpless condition and spare the life of 
the teacher, and show him what a great oppor- 
tunity he had to help his fellow-men. Then he 
prayed for his own wandering boy, that God 
would protect him and some day bring him back 
to them and make him a useful man in this 


A Voice from the Pit 


131 


world. Long after the amen was said they re- 
mained in their attitude of worship, as if await- 
ing an answer to the simple petition. Finally 
Aunt Sue raised herself from her knees to see 
if the teacher needed some attention. Then her 
husband raised his head and wiped his eyes with 
his red bandana and said: 

“I feel that God will somehow answer our 
prayer, mother.” 

“We ’ll wait patiently for His own good 
time,” she replied, reverently. 

All through the long weary hours of the 
night they watched the teacher, looking for some 
sign of returning consciousness, but not until the 
day began to break was their patience rewarded. 


CHAPTER XII 


ROXY AND LOU 

N the morning after the event re- 
corded in the last chapter a group of 
boys and girls was gathered about the 
door of the Spring Creek schoolhouse. 
The girls huddled themselves together, trying to 
protect themselves from the biting air; the boys 
were moving about in an effort to keep up cir- 
culation. There was much loud talking among 
the larger ones as each one tried to outdo the 
other in saying smart things for the benefit of 
the giggling girls. 

“I betcher he ’s got skeered an’ run off,” 
said one. 

“I shore wish he hes ; then we would n’t hev 
ter come ter skeul no more,” said another. 

“I ’low I could tell sompin’ ’bout all this 
ef I wanted ter,” said a third, as he began to 



132 


Roxy and Lou 133 

move about with a swagger. Immediately all 
eyes were on him. 

“Go ’n’ tell whut yer know ’bout hit, Abe,” 
came from the throats of a half dozen or more. 

“Whut yer take me fer?” said Abe Rupert, 
for it was a younger brother of Bill. “Must 
’low I ’m er fool ter go ’round tellin’ ever’thing 
I know.” 

“Why do n’t yer tell, Abe ? They ain’t nary 
one of us that ’ll tell,” said one of the larger 
girls as she came near the center of attraction. 
The latter looked at the eager faces and realized 
his advantage. 

“Whut ’ll yer gimme ef I tell ye all?” he 
said, in a bartering tone. 

“I ’ll give yer this apple,” said the girl. 

“I ’ll give yer these hickernuts,” said a boy. 
Many others offered to contribute of their little 
store of eatables. 

Abe very deliberately took off his hat and 
held it extended toward the group, saying at the 
same time: 

“Aw, wall, ef yer won’t say nuthin’ ter no 
one erbout hit, I ’low I might tell yer; but shore 


134 


The Call of the Hills 


as yer tell hit, I ’ll never tell yer nuthln’ else.” 
After he had carefully stored the goodies from 
his hat into his pockets he told his secret: 

“Why, thar was one of the gang thet met 
the teacher over yander in the woods back of 
Uncle Jim’s place last night an’ tole him he ’d 
better leave this place ’fore mornin’, er sumpin’ 
turrible would happen ter him; an’ yer see he 
hain’t here, an’ hit ’s time fer books ; so yer all 
know whut ’s happened.” 

The scholars had been so intent upon their 
transaction that they had not noticed the ap- 
proach of a new arrival, who quietly took her 
place behind the hero just in time to hear the 
secret revealed. It was Roxy Nettles, and as 
she listened to the revelation her mind went 
back to her meeting with Bill Rupert, and she 
remembered that he had turned into the path 
that went down to the mill; and if the teacher 
had gone down to the Watkins home, as he 
often did, he would take the path from the 
schoolhouse which led into the one that Bill had 
taken, and in that case they had met. What 
had been the result? She hated to think of it. 


135 


Roxy and Lou 

for she knew that Bill was very angry when 
he had left her, and when in such a state of 
mind was dangerous. She was afraid to make 
any inquiries about the affair for fear of show- 
ing unusual anxiety before her schoolmates. 
While she stood silently listening to the com- 
ments on Abe’s story, and longing to ask him 
some questions, Lou Simpson dashed out of the 
woods and walked rapidly up to the group and 
asked excitedly: 

“Is Mr. Jones here?” 

“No,” came a chorus of voices. 

“Well, that does beat all.” Then, seeing 
Roxy, she addressed her, “Has he been up your 
way?” 

“No,” was the reply. 

“Well,” continued Lou, “it ’s mighty 
strange. He always tells us when he ’s not com- 
ing home in the evening, and he did n’t say any- 
thing about going anywhere last night. Some- 
times he goes to Uncle Jim’s in the evening, but 
he never stays there all night.” 

“Wall, I ’low we ’uns might es wall go 
home, fer I ’ll betcher he ’ll not come back to 


136 The Call of the Hills 

this hayr skeul no more,” said Abe, very 
wisely. 

“Why won’t he?” asked Lou, very quickly. 

“Because,” broke in Roxy, before Abe could 
speak, “Abe says the gang that does so many 
mean things in this community ordered him to 
leave last night, and he has become frightened 
and gone.” 

“I do n’t believe it,” said Lou, with a show 
of feeling. “Mr. Jones ain’t that kind of a 
man to run. May be,” she continued, her eyes 
flashing fire, “they ’ve played one of their dirty 
tricks on him, and he is not able to get here; 
but I know he ’ll never run like a coward.” 

Roxy noticed the spirited way in which Lou 
defended the master, and she also noticed the 
wonderful way in which the girl’s manner of 
expression had changed, and for the first time 
in her simple life she experienced the bitter pang 
of jealousy. Abe had been quelled by the girl’s 
fiery words, and like a whipped pup he started 
for home. The others followed suit; some go- 
ing in one direction and some in another, until 
all had been swallowed up by the words save 


137 


Roxy and Lou 

Roxy and Lou. The latter was the first to speak 
after the last pupil had disappeared, and her 
words quickly dispelled every bit of jealousy 
Roxy had entertained. 

“Do n’t think I ’m in love with him, Roxy, 
fori ’m not,” she said, strongly emphasizing the 
last words ; “but he has helped me so much that 
I feel that I can never repay him. I would in- 
deed be an ungrateful creature if I did not de- 
fend him when he is being accused of cowardice 
unjustly.” 

“You are confident that what Abe Rupert 
has just said about him is not true?” questioned 
the other girl. Lou looked at her a moment 
curiously and then replied with a question: 

“Well, you do n’t think he has gone, do 
you?” 

“No, I don’t,” replied Roxy, stoutly; “and 
I ’m glad we agree on it. Now, since we are 
sure that he has not left like a coward, and since 
he is not here, we know that something has 
happened to him. Perhaps now he is greatly 
in need of a friend. We are his friends. Should 
we not do something for him?” 


138 


The Call of the Hills 


“Of course we should, if we only knew what 
to do.” 

“Well, the first thing to do is to find him. 
Let ’s go down to Uncle Jim’s and see if they 
know anything of his whereabouts.” Lou 
readily consented, and the two girls started off 
down the path toward the place mentioned. 

The girls so suddenly brought together in 
their purpose to help the teacher had formed a 
bond of friendship which was to increase in 
strength with the passing years. They had 
never been more than acquaintances before. As 
they walked on through the woods that winter 
day, Roxy heard from Lou just how patiently 
and kindly the teacher had led her to find her 
better self, and how earnestly he had helped 
her to develop it. Roxy’s heart was welling up 
within her and her face was radiant as she 
heard the other girl’s story, for she felt that 
he was beginning the work that God had called 
him to do. And then, as she thought of his 
unexplained absence from the schoolhouse, a 
shadow passed over her face, hiding its radiance 
for a moment as the passing cloud hides the 


139 


Roxy and Lou 

brightness of the sun. “But the just God who 
sent him to us will not allow him to be taken 
from us before his work is scarce begun,” 
thought she, and the shadow passed away. They 
had come to the spot where, not twenty-four 
hours before, the teacher had met Bill Rupert, 
when Lou with a sorrowful face turned to Roxy 
and laid a detaining hand on her arm. They 
both stopped, and she spoke: 

“Roxy, we have known each other for a 
long time, but have never been friends until to- 
day. Oh, how I have longed for a real true 
girl friend of late, some one that I might con- 
fide in, some one that could understand my 
heart. Mr. Jones has been so good and has 
listened to me and tried to help me, but there 
are some things a man can’t understand. Roxy” 
— the voice was pleading and the eyes were full 
of tears as she clasped the other girl’s hand in 
both of hers — “may I tell you all? You can 
understand, as only a woman can.” 

“Tell me, Lou,” said Roxy, as she stroked 
the other’s flushed cheek. “You can trust me, 
for we will always be friends now.” 


140 


The Call of the Hills 


“When Mr. Jones came to stay with us,” 
began Lou, “I thought — silly girl that I was — 
I must have him for my sweetheart. I did not 
know what love meant, but I tried every possible 
way to attract him. You remember the dis- 
gusting scene at the Whiteside apple peeling. 
How hateful I must have appeared to him then ! 
It did not seem to me that I was making much 
progress in winning him ; so I wrote him a note, 
telling him how much I thought of him. Then 
it was that he showed me how noble he was. 
Instead of taking advantage of my ignorance he 
showed me myself as I really was and what I 
could be, and in the awakening I learned what 
love really was. As I did so, the image of an- 
other man arose before me, and from that day 
my heart has belonged to him. And, Roxy, that 
image was John Whiteside.” As she finished 
she hid her face against Roxy’s arm and wept 
softly. The other gently put her arm around 
the weeping one and said: 

“Do'es John know of your feeling for him?” 

“That ’s just it,” said Lou, raising her face, 
wet with tears. “I think John cares for me. 


141 


Roxy and Lou 

but because of my frivolous actions toward the 
teacher he thinks that I do not care for him. 
His mind has been poisoned by some of those 
who are always doing some harm in this neigh- 
borhood. He has been so bad since he got hurt 
at the dance that no one is allowed to see him; 
so Mr. Jones could not go to him and explain, 
and, of course, you know that I could not ex- 
plain it all to him.” 

“I think if you will just be patient, Lou, that 
it will all come out right in good time. You 
can depend upon me to do all that lies within 
my power to make it come out right. I am glad 
that you have told me all, for now that we 
know each other better we shall love each other 
more. But let us hasten, for he may need us.” 

As the two girls walked on down the snow- 
packed path toward the creek, Roxy was going 
over Lou’s words, and as she saw in her mind 
Ray’s actions toward this simple girl of the hills 
he appeared very noble and grand to her. Her 
heart beat wildly, and the blushes played hide- 
and-seek on her cheeks. Oh, how she loved 
him I She must acknowledge it to herself. 


142 


The Call of the Hills 


How sweet was the confession, as over and over 
within her heart she said: “I love him. I love 
him!” How her heart went out to the girl 
walking beside her! She could truly sympa- 
thize with her. “We both love,” thought Roxy; 
“but are we loved?” 

As the girls came to the brow of the hill 
they saw the peaceful little valley wrapt in its 
blanket of snow, and in the midst the little Wat- 
kins cabin. They hastened down the hillside, 
into the yard by the side gate, around to the 
front door, and, without stopping to knock, 
opened it and walked in. For a moment they 
stood silent with surprise as their eyes beheld 
the scene before them. Uncle Jim was sitting 
on one side of the fireplace. Aunt Sue on the 
other, and the teacher lay on the lounge before 
it. Aunt Sue was the first to speak: 

“I knowed you ’d come, honey,” as she 
looked at Roxy; “an’ here ’s Lou,” as she turned 
to the latter. “Wall, we ’re shore ’nuff glad yer 
come, fer hit ’pears we do need help.” 

“Why, Aunt Sue, what does all this mean?” 
asked Roxy, pointing to the teacher, who smiled 
faintly. 


143 


Roxy and Lou 

‘‘La, now, honey, we jist ’lowed he was 
’bout gone when we got him hayr; but I ’low 
he hain’t es bad es he ’peared ter be at first. I 
was mighty nigh shore his leg was broke, but 
hits only a strain. Of course, he ’s mighty weak 
yit from the exposure.” And then she told to 
the wondering girls the story of how they found 
Ray. After she had finished, Lou said: 

“But you have n’t told us how he got there.” 

“I ’low he can tell thet better ’n I can,” re- 
plied the old lady, as she nodded to Ray. 

“Well, there is n’t much to tell, girls,” said 
Ray, weakly. “It was dark when I got to the 
brow of the hill, as I had been detained along 
the road a little while, and I got off the path 
and wandered around until I fell into the pit. 
I suppose that I had been there perhaps an hour 
when they found me. I do n’t think I am hurt 
much, and will be back to school in a few days.” 

“But who detained you?” said Lou. 

“Oh, a friend of mine.” He tried to speak 
lightly, but, owing to weakness, made a failure 
of it. 

“How did ye gals know he was hayr?” 
Uncle Jim broke in. 


144 


The Call of the Hills 


“We did n’t,” replied Roxy. “I went to the 
schoolhouse, where I found all the pupils stand- 
ing around outside, wondering why the teacher 
had not come. I had n’t been there long when 
Lou came in search of him. She said he had n’t 
come home the night before, and they were all 
uneasy about him. Then we decided to come 
down here and see if you knew anything of his 
whereabouts.” 

“Hit ’s powerful nice ter hev young gals 
take sich a int’rest in yer, hain’t it, teacher?” 
jokingly said the old man. The girls blushed, 
and Ray looked confused, but answered: 

“Indeed it is. Uncle Jim.” 

“I ’ll have to go and let the folks know I 
found you,” said Lou. “I guess Roxy can stay 
and help out if needed.” 

“Yes, I ’ll stay and help Aunt Sue, as she 
seems to have two invalids on hand,” replied 
Roxy. 

“If you think you will need the doctor, I ’ll 
have Joe go after him when I get home,” sug- 
gested Lou. 

“No,” said Ray, “I won’t need him.” 


145 


Roxy and Lou 

As soon as Lou was gone Roxy laid aside 
her wraps and began to straighten up the room, 
which had not received its morning attention. 
As she moved quietly about the room the mas- 
ter followed her with his eyes. Once she turned 
toward him, and as their eyes met, the tell-tale 
blushes appeared on her cheeks. “I wonder if 
she loves me?” thought the sick man on the 
lounge. “I love him; I love him I” thought the 
girl at her work. 


10 


CHAPTER XIII 


JAKE CALLS ON THE TEACHER 

HE days that passed while the teacher 
was an invalid at the Watkins home 
were golden days for him. Uncle 
Jim was just able to hobble about the 
room to wait on himself. Ray could not do so 
much. Several times he had tried to put his 
foot to the floor, but the pain was so great that 
he could hardly refrain from crying out. Aunt 
Sue was not able to wait on the teacher and do 
the other necessary work, so Roxy came every 
day to help, and as she came each morning she 
brought such a cheerful face that, although the 
sky without was overcast with clouds and the 
wind was bitter cold, within the little home there 
was a golden radiance which warmed the soul 
of the teacher. 

One morning about a week after the accident 
she came in and found Ray sitting in the big 
old rocker, with his lame foot lying on a chair 
146 



Jake calls on the Teacher 147 

in front of him. He was sitting all alone, as 
the old folks were out in the kitchen. 

“What are you doing, sitting up in that 
chair?” she said, approaching him and trying 
to look stem. 

“Do n’t look at me like that,” he said, laugh- 
ing, “or you ’ll frighten me into a relapse, and 
then you ’ll have to nurse me for another week 
or more.” 

“I am afraid I will, anyway, if you do n’t 
get back to bed. Just look how pale you are. 
You know you don’t feel like being up;” and 
then she added, fixing her lips into a pretty 
little pout, “I ’m sorry you are so anxious to 
get free from the care of your nurse. It do n’t 
speak well for my nursing to have a very sick 
man get up and try to take care of himself.” 

“Do n’t say that, Roxy,” he said, as he 
reached for her hand. “You have been the 
kindest and best nurse possible; but I hate to 
be so dependent, such a burden. I could lie 
here sick forever if you were near me.” He 
drew the trembling, blushing girl toward him, 
and then, remembering his words to Bill Rupert, 


148 


The Call of the Hills 


he suddenly released her hands, turned his face 
toward the fire, and was silent. The girl was 
astonished at his strange actions. Why had he 
spoken so tenderly, and then, when she would 
have thrown herself at his feet in adoring love, 
why did he turn away so quickly? If she could 
have known the conflict that raged within him 
between love and duty she would not have won- 
dered. The tempter was saying : “Tell her your 
love. Rupert is not worthy of her.’’ Then the 
voice of duty replied, “But remember your 
promise to help him if he would try to be a 
man.” The tempter persisted, “He is not 
worthy of her.” “Have you given him a 
chance?” responded duty. And so the battle 
went on. He looked at her. She had crossed 
the room and was laying aside her wraps. A 
stubborn strand of gold had gotten from its 
proper place and had curled itself gracefully on 
her brow ; the cold air had so rudely pinched her 
cheeks that they rivaled a peach in color; and 
those eyes — beautiful blue eyes, with their great 
depth — was he mistaken? No, he was not. 
They were swimming in tears. Could it be that 


Jake calls on the Teacher 149 

she was weeping because he had not gone on 
and told her more ? Oh, how he longed to take 
her in his arms and kiss those tears away while 
he laid his heart bare before her ! He half rose 
from the chair, as if he would go to her; but 
the pain in his foot brought him to himself, and 
he fell back weakly. The girl noticed the move- 
ment and, with a look of alarm on her face, 
hurried to his side as she said: 

“What are you trying to do? You should 
know better than to try to get up. If you want 
anything I will get it for you.’’ 

“Roxy, I — ” but he never finished the sen- 
tence, for just then Uncle Jim came in from the 
kitchen, saying: 

“Teacher, the ’s a man out hayr whut wants 
ter see yer. Wy, howdy, Roxy!” as he saw her. 
“Come right in,” he continued, addressing some 
one in the kitchen. Presently the ungainly figure 
of Jake Whiteside slouched into the room. He 
returned the salutation of Ray and Roxy with 
a simple “Howdy,” then stood twirling his hat 
in his hand and looking wildly about as if sus- 
picious of danger lurking about. 


150 


The Call of the Hills 


“Did you want to speak to me about some- 
thing?” asked Ray, kindly. Jake assented by 
a jerk of his head. 

“Well, what is it?” asked the master, after 
a pause, as Jake remained silent. 

“Can’t tell no one but ye,” replied Jake, 
casting a sidelong glance at Roxy and Uncle Jim. 

“We ’ll go out in the kitchen,” said Roxy, 
turning to Uncle Jim. They both left the room, 
shutting the door behind them. As soon as he 
was alone with the master, Jake came forward 
and, with eyes roving about the room, he said: 

“Hes ever’body gone?” 

“Yes.” 

“Shore the’ ain’t anybody else in hayr?” 

“Quite sure.” 

“Hes the devil been ’round hayr of late?” 
Jake’s eyes still roved suspiciously around the 
room, as if he was not quite satisfied that they 
were alone. 

“No, Jake, you need n’t be afraid of any 
one being around here. So tell me what it is.” 

“Wall, yer know hit pays ter be keerful these 
days, fer the devil is around a heap, an’ I ’low 


Jake calls on the Teacher 151 

he ’s doin’ some mighty big things. Yer see, I 
was ketched by him once, an’ I do n’t figger on 
him gittin’ me ag’in ; so I ’m lookin’ out fer him 
more ’n them whut hain’t been ketched by him.” 
He stopped to take another look around the 
room, as if to assure himself that no one had 
entered while he was speaking. As Ray watched 
him pityingly, he felt that Jake had something 
of importance to tell him amidst these foolish 
babblings and was anxious for him to continue. 
Presently Jake leaned forward so that his mouth 
was very near the teacher’s ear, and said in a 
hoarse whisper: 

“Teacher, the devil ’s on yer trail, and I 
come hayr ter warn yer, so ’s he won’t git a 
chance ter sarve yer like he done me once.” Ray 
gave a start as the strange words fell on his ear. 
As soon as Jake delivered his message he 
straightened up quickly and again looked sus- 
piciously around the room. 

“How do you know this, Jake?” 

“ ’Cause I heard him telling some of his 
imps.” 

“Where did you see him*?” 


152 


The Call of the Hills 


“I ain’t seed him. I jist heerd him, an’ then 
I run, Ter I did n’t wanter git ketched ag’in by 
him.” 

“How did you know it was him?” 

“Lordy, teacher, I ’low I ourghter know his 
voice.” 

“But where were you when you heard him?” 
Ray was determined to find out if there was 
anything in all this strange warning. 

“I was a-huntin’, and come out to the aidg 
of the bluff jist over the mill afore I knowed hit. 
Hit was jist gittin’ dark, an’ I heerd sompin’ 
down below, but did n’t know jist whut hit was.> 
I lent over the big rock jist above the mill, an’ 
then I knowed whar I was, an’ ef I ’d knowed 
hit before I ’d never looked over. Jist then 
I heerd a voice say, ‘We ’ve got ter git rid of 
thet dammed teacher.’ Then I knowed who 
’t was, an’ I pulled out. I ’lowed I ourghter 
tell yer, so ’s yer could look out fer him.” 
When he had finished he began to twirl his hat 
again and let his eyes rove about the room. Ray 
plied him with many more questions, but he 
could get nothing further from him. To many 


Jake calls on the Teacher 153 

of them he responded foolishly. After a few 
moments he started toward the door, as he said : 

“ ’Low I ’ll be gittin’ along now.” Then, 
as he stood in the door, he added in a loud whis- 
per, “Look out fer the devil,” and was gone. 

As soon as he was left alone Ray began to 
try and unravel the strange words of Jake, for 
he was sure that there was something more to 
them than a wild fancy of a deranged mind. It 
was at the mill Jake had heard it. He had seen 
Sam Carson there one night himself; had seen 
him have a mysterious meeting with other men. 
Then he thought of Bill Rupert’s threat the 
night of his accident. Putting ends together, 
he decided that Rupert and Carson and others 
that he did not know were the devil and imps 
of which Jake had spoken, and they were trying 
to arrange some plan whereby they could make 
him leave the country. As he thought of it his 
blood boiled within his veins. Why did they 
want him to go? He had not given them any 
cause to be offended at him. Somehow he felt 
that Sam Carson was at the bottom of it all. 
He was shrewd and was using these ignorant 


154 


The Call of the Hills 


young men of the hills for his own advantage, 
no doubt ; and he felt that the teacher’s influence 
would counteract his own, and would finally 
overthrow him completely; so the best thing to 
do was to run him out of the country. Thus 
thought Ray. He fully decided that, do what 
they might, he would not go. He felt that he 
had begun a work that was pleasing to his 
Heavenly Father, and he knew that it was His 
will that he stay here; for he had heard Him 
calling, and felt that while he had not given 
up the battle with duty, yet that he surely must 
in the end. He had already worked a marvel- 
ous change in the Simpson family ; he was trying 
earnestly to help the pupils of the school, and 
wanted, if possible, to bring home Uncle Jim’s 
prodigal son. He had been writing to the dif- 
ferent detective agencies, and he was sure, if he 
could find his whereabouts, that he could in- 
fluence him to come home. He had even tried 
to help Rupert. He had decided that he would 
do all the good he could while his term of school 
lasted, whether he gave up his ambition for the 
future or not ; so he determined not to go before 


Jake calls on the Teacher 155 

his time was up. And how could he leave Roxy ? 
But he felt that he must not think of her, or 
it would weaken his purpose to play fair with 
Rupert and give him a chance to be a man 
worthy of her. Uncle Jim entered, sat down, 
and began to talk. Ray was very inattentive, 
for he was watching Roxy through the half 
open door as she did up the work in the kitchen 4 
After dinner she announced that she was going 
home, as everybody seemed better, and Aunt 
Sue said she could manage the remainder of the 
day without her. As she went out it seemed to 
Ray that the sunshine was going out of the 
house, and he settled back moodily into his chair 
and closed his eyes. Uncle Jim, seating himself 
on the opposite side of the fireplace, supposed 
that the master was asleep and kept silent until 
he found himself nodding; then, laying his old 
gray head against the back of his chair, he slept 
soundly. 


CHAPTER XIV 


JOHN SWEARS ALLEGIANCE 

OW ’S the teacher, Rox?” It was 
Dan Nettles who asked the question 
of his sister as the family were seated 
around the dinner table. Roxy had 
just come from the Watkins home. For the last 
few days she had been going down to help Aunt 
Sue in her morning work, and would return be- 
fore noon. 

“I think he will be able to get back to school 
in a day or two,” she replied; then, turning to 
her mother, she continued: “Aunt Sue thinks she 
can manage without me now, as Uncle Jim is 
able to help her, and Mr. Jones can take care 
of himself.” 

“That’s what makes you so solemn, is it? 
Sorry you ain’t going to wait on the teacher any 
longer?” said Dan, in a teasing way. 

Roxy did not reply to Dan’s query. The 

156 



157 


John Swears Allegiance 

mother thought she saw tears in her eyes. The 
other members of the family did not notice it, 
as they were too busily engaged in eating. After 
a moment’s silence George spoke: 

“I saw John Whiteside up at the store this 
morning, and he ’s looking mighty thin.” 

“Did he say anything about the fight?” 
asked Dan. 

“Not much. Somebody asked him if he 
knew who did it, and he said he did n’t, but 
guessed he ’d find out before long.” 

“I ’d hate to be that fellow when he does 
find it out,” commented Dan. “Some say it was 
Sandy Rowen.” 

“Hit ain’t best fer yer ter ’spress yerself too 
freely, Dan, ’bout sich things,” said the father, 
looking at his youngest son reprovingly. “Yer 
might git yerself in trouble.” 

At the mention of John Whiteside, Roxy 
had looked up and listened to what was said 
with interest. She arose from the table, think- 
ing how she might see him, for she had deter- 
mined to see him and put Lou’s case before him. 
She felt like she was the one to do it, for she 


158 


The Call of the Hills 


knew John’s disposition, and she doubted if he 
would listen to any explanation the teacher 
might make. She went upstairs to her own 
little room, that she might be alone with her 
thoughts. She seated herself in a low chair be- 
side the one window in the room and looked 
dreamily down the winding road. Was it the 
desire to help Lou that made her so anxious to 
see John? Not altogether that, she had to con- 
fess to herself, but partly to help the teacher. 
With quick intuition she had seen a dark cloud 
gathering over him. The gang that was a ter- 
ror to the country was at work against him, 
and she knew that when they undertook a thing 
they generally carried it out. If John could be 
gotten right with the teacher he would be such 
a help, for he was a constant source of worry 
to the gang. He had a suspicion that it was 
the treatment that his brother Jake had received 
at their hands that had caused him to lose his 
power of reason, and now it was generally 
thought that a member of the gang had tried 
to kill John, and if all this could be proved it 
would be a bad thing for the band of evildoers. 


159 


John Swears Allegiance 

John was held in high esteem by all the people 
of the community, and would have a large fol- 
lowing in anything he undertook. If he could 
be led to espouse the cause of the teacher it 
would mean victory for the latter. Roxy felt 
that he must be won over, and the teacher must 
not be harmed or run from the neighborhood, 
for she was sure that God wanted him to do a 
work there that no one else could do. When 
she thought of harm coming to him, tears filled 
her eyes. She loved him, even if he did not 
return it, and she could not bear the thought of 
seeing him suffer. She arose, threw on a wrap, 
and went downstairs, for she felt that she could 
not sit still and think of it all. She must be 
moving about. She heard her mother softly 
singing in the kitchen as she let herself out of 
the front door. Down the walk to the gate and 
out into the road she went. The sky was over- 
cast with heavy clouds, and it looked like it 
would snow at any moment. As she walked 
along, the voice of the woods called to her. 
Some snowbirds hopped about on the ground 
just ahead of her; a covey of quail arose with 


160 


The Call of the Hills 


a whirring sound at her approach; a chattering 
squirrel sat on a limb watching her curiously. 
As she turned a bend in the road the clatter of 
hoofs fell upon her ear. She looked down the 
road and saw a man on horseback approaching. 
As he drew nearer she recognized John White- 
side. He looked pale and gaunt, and Roxy 
thought she noticed a sad expression about his 
usually Stern eyes. They had always been good 
friends, and so she addressed him in her usually 
friendly manner: 

“How are you, John? I ’m glad to see you 
out again.’’ 

“Wy, howdy, Roxy! I ain’t feelin’ jist es 
peart es I might, but ’low I ’m gittin’ ’long ’bout 
es well es can be ’spected, cornsiderin’ ever’- 
thing.” He had stopped his horse and had 
changed his position in the saddle. “Whar yer 
goin’?” he asked, abruptly. 

“I — I — Oh,” she stammered, “I was taking 
a little walk. Somehow I love to be out in the 
open air in all kinds of weather.” She was 
somewhat confused at the query. Here was the 
man she had so much desired to see; and now 


161 


John Swears Allegiance 

that the opportunity had been given her to do 
what she felt no one else could do, she hardly 
knew just how to proceed. John was preparing 
to move one. She could not let this opportunity 
slip. She must speak to him now ; so she began, 
quickly : 

“John, I have something that I would like 
to say to you.” 

“All right, fire away.” 

“You know,” she began, “I am your friend, 
and what I am about to say is because of that.” 
John nodded and looked curious. She con- 
tinued: “You think Lou Simpson has been 
turned from you by the teacher.” At the men- 
tion of Lou’s name his face clouded. “You 
believe it partly because of the indiscreet way 
in which she acted and partly because of what 
has been told you. I know positively that you 
have a wrong impression.” 

“How d’ yer know hit?” he asked, rather 
sharply. 

“Because, in the first place, Mr. Jones is a 
gentleman, and no gentleman would do such a 
thing.” 


11 


162 


The Call of the Hills 


“Purty gentleman,” sneered John. 

“And in the second place Lou says he has 
not done so.” 

“Wall, what makes her act like she ’s been 
doin’ ? She do n’t have nuthin’ ter do with me 
any more.” 

“Have you given her a chance to have any- 
thing to do with you lately?” And then, with- 
out waiting for him to reply, she told him the 
story as Lou had told it to her, how nobly Ray 
bad acted toward Lou, and instead of turning 
her from John, had taught her to love him. 
With much feeling she told the listening giant 
the story. Ray could not have had a more elo- 
quent tongue to defend him. John listened to 
every word attentively, and when she had fin- 
ished he said: 

“An’ she tole yer thet, did she?” 

“Yes, and if you will give her a chance she 
will tell you the same thing.” 

“Wall, Roxy, ef thet ’s true, an’ I hain’t 
no reason ter doubt yer, I shore do ’low thet 
teacher air a gen’leman, an’ I ourghter ’pologize 
ter him right away.” 


163 


John Swears Allegiance 

“It ’s all true, John, every word of it, and 
I felt you should know it. Mr. Jones was going 
to tell you as soon as he saw you, but I was 
almost sure you would not give him a chance, 
and poor Lou could not; so I felt that I must.” 

“Roxy,” said John, getting slowly down 
from his horse, “you shore air one good girl.” 
Taking off his hat, he approached her with out- 
stretched hand. The snow had begun to fall, 
but neither of them noticed it. She put her soft 
white hand into his big rough one, and for a 
moment his big bushy head was bent forward, 
and she felt his cold lips touch it. She did not 
withdraw her hand, for she knew that the act 
was prompted by the genuine gratitude of an 
honest heart. He raised his head and said : 

“Yer cain’t never tell jist what yer saved 
me from, fer I had jist ’bout made up my mind 
that this world was too little fer me an’ him, 
an ’ef I could n’t hev Lou he could n’t nuther.” 
A shudder passed through her frame at these 
words. He felt it, for he still held her hand. 
“I know hit was turrible ter think of, but I ’ve 
been nigh ’bout crazy; fer, Roxy, I shore do 


164 


The Call of the Hills 


love Lou. Now, I wanter tell yer one thing,” 
he added, solemnly, “I ’m goln’ ter stand by 
thet teacher jist es long es I Ve got breath in 
my body. I ’ll show ’em whurther er not they 
run him outen this place so easy.” The fire 
flashed from his eye, and his voice sounded like 
distant thunder. “Ef them low-down devils 
tech a har on his head they ’ll hear from John 
Whiteside.” He released her hand, shook the 
snow from his shaggy locks, slapped his hat 
down on his head, and mounted his horse. 
“Good-bye, Roxy! I’ll never fergit ye fer 
whut you ’ve done fer me.” His horse was 
moving up the road. For a moment she stood 
watching until the horse and rider had disap- 
peared, then she started for home with a prayer 
of thanksgiving in her heart. When she entered 
the house her mother was sitting before the fire 
doing some mending. 

“Where have you been, child?” she asked, 
as she looked up from her work. 

“Oh, I was just out for a little walk, 
mother.” 

She threw aside her wrap and came and sat 


165 


John Swears Allegiance 

down on a stool at her mother’s feet; the light 
from the blazing logs in the fireplace fell upon 
her fair young face. The mother watched her 
fondly for a moment ; then, laying her hand lov- 
ingly on her golden head, she said : 

“What is it, dear? Something has been 
troubling you of late?” 

“Mother, I have never kept anything from 
you, so I will tell you.” She told to her listen- 
ing mother the story that Lou had told her the 
day the two girls had gone in search of the 
teacher. Then she told her of her recent meet- 
ing with John, adding: 

“I believe that Providence led me this after- 
noon.” The mother watched her tenderly as 
she spoke. When she had finished, the girl 
turned her face to the fire and watched the flick- 
ering light. 

“Roxy,” said the mother, “have you told 
me all?” 

“All, mother?” questioned the girl, as she 
looked into her mother’s face. 

“Yes, daughter; I think you are keeping 
something from me.” The girl’s face glowed 


166 


The Call of the Hills 


red in the firelight. Then, hiding It In her 
mother’s lap, she began to weep. 

“I think I can read your thoughts, daugh- 
ter,” she said, as she stroked her daughter’s 
head. “Is it true?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

Mother and daughter sat long in the fire- 
light that wintry afternoon, conversing In that 
silent language that only hearts perfectly attuned 
are able to understand. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE BURNING OF THE SCHOOL- 
HOUSE 

T was Friday afternoon, and school 
had been dismissed. Ray had been 
teaching only two days since his re- 
covery, and he had been doing that 
on sheer nerve, as he was still weak and had 
to use a stick in walking. His ankle still pained 
him when he bore his weight on it. He was 
glad it was Friday, for now he would have two 
days in which to rest his ankle, and he was sure 
that it would be a great benefit to it, for he 
had been walking and standing on it too much. 
He had again taken up his abode at Simpson’s. 
On the evening of his arrival there he was sur- 
prised to see John Whiteside approach the house 
and come in. He was in his room at the time, 
and could see John’s approach from the window 
of his room. He had heard him speak a few 
words to the family as he entered the house, and 
then he knocked at the door of Ray’s room. As 

167 



168 


The Call of the Hills 


the latter rose to open it he hardly knew just 
what to expect, for he had not heard of Roxy’s 
meeting with John. As he entered the room he 
offered his hand to the teacher and said: 

“Teacher, I ’ve come down ter ’poligize fer 
the way I ’ve done yer.” And then Ray learned 
all about how Roxy had cleared up the mis- 
understanding. He could still feel John’s 
hearty handclasp and hear his rough, kind words 
as they parted: 

“Teacher, yer a man all over, an’ ef yer 
ever need me, jist lemme know, fer I ’d go 
through hell fer yer. I ’low I ’m jist ’bout the 
happiest man in this whole place, fer ye ’ve 
showed Lou how ter love me right, an’ I do n’t 
mind tellin’ yer thet she ’s goin’ ter marry me 
right soon.” 

Ray thought of it all again as he sat by his 
desk that Friday evening after school was over. 
It made his heart glad to know of all that Roxy 
had done for him. Perhaps he would have 
failed in his effort to help John and Lou, had 
it not been for her. How she could help him 
all through life if she was only his! He was 


The Burning of the Schoolhouse 169 

so lost in his reverie that he did not notice the 
approaching darkness, and when he finally 
roused himself it was almost dark. He arose, 
hobbled out of the schoolhouse, and locked the 
door behind him. He had hardly disappeared 
down the dark woods path when a dark figure 
came from the woods on the opposite side of 
the house and stealthily approached. The 
figure carried a bundle under his arm, and when 
he came up to the building he placed it on the 
ground under one corner. A light flared for 
a moment, as if a match had been lighted; then 
a faint red gleam appeared. The figure quickly 
disappeared in the woods. 

Ray walked on very slowly. Twice he had 
to stop to rest his ankle. Considerable time 
passed before he came out of the woods. He 
crossed the little field that bordered the creek, 
and as he approached the footbridge he saw 
a man running toward it from the opposite side. 
The man seemed in a hurry ; so Ray stopped to 
let him cross first. When he came across to 
where the other stood, he paused and said in an 
excited voice: 


170 


The Call of the Hills 


“Mr. Jones, do you not see the fire?” It 
was Sam Carson who spoke. Ray turned and 
looked in the direction indicated by the other. 
As he did so, the sight that met his eyes filled 
him with amazement. Just over the top of the 
trees in the direction o'f the schoolhouse a great 
light illuminated the sky. 

“It must be the schoolhouse,” said Carson, 
as he started on. - “I ’ll hurry on, as I might be 
of some assistance.” 

Ray stood leaning against the handrail of 
the bridge for support. He was trembling in 
every limb from excitement and exhaustion. 
Every moment the sky was getting lighter. He 
must go back; but how could he? If it was the 
schoolhouse it would be burnt down before he 
could manage to get half way back. At that 
moment his ear caught the sound of a horse’s 
hoofs coming down the hill on the opposite side 
of the creek. Some one was riding rapidly 
toward the creek. Ray could hear the splash 
of the water as he crossed a few yards below 
the footbridge. Perhaps the horseman would 
assist him. As he came out of the creekbed and 


The Burning of the Schoolhouse 171 

started up the hill toward the woods, Ray hailed 
him. He stopped his horse and shouted: 

“Who ’s thar?” 

“It ’s Jones, the teacher. Can you give me 
a lift toward the fire.” 

“Wall, I jist ’low I ’d be a ornery sneak ef 
I did n’t.” The horseman was riding toward 
the teacher as he spoke. “Gimme yer hand, 
teacher, an’ put yer foot in thet stirrup, an’ 
lemme help yer up, fer ole roan can carry us 
both.” 

“Why, John, is it you?” said Ray, as he 
found himself astride the horse behind John 
Whiteside. 

“Hit shore air. Be yer jist gittin’ home 
from skeul?” 

“Yes. I did not start until dark, and it has 
taken me an unreasonably long time to come 
this distance on account of my ankle.” 

“I ’low thet hit ’s the skeulhouse thet ’s 
burnin’.” 

“I suppose it is; but I can’t see how it 
caught, for the fire in the stove was almost out 
when I left.” 


172 


The Call of the Hills 


“Thar ’s a lot of things happen ’round hayr 
thet can’t in no way be reckoned on.” John’s 
tone made the master ask quickly: 

“Do you suspect any one of setting it on 
fire, John?” 

“Nope, jist know hit.” 

“Whom do you think it could be?” 

“Wall, I wouldn’t like ter say jist yit, but 
yer keep yer eyes skinned an’ yer ears open, an’ 
yer ’ll larn some things thet ’ll s’prise yer, I 
’low.” 

They were now only a few rods from the 
schoolhouse, and they could see it in flames 
through the leafless trees. As they came out 
into the little clearing they saw that quite a 
crowd had gathered about the burning building; 
but all were standing idly by, not attempting to 
save the building, as any attempt would be 
useless. 

“Yer ’d better stay on ole Roan, teacher, 
fer yer can’t do no good gittin’ down, an’ it ’ll 
make yer foot hurt fer nuthin’. I ’ll jist git 
down myself an’ look ’round a bit,” said John, 
dismounting. 


The Burning of the Schoolhouse 173 

“All right; I believe it will be better for me 
up here.” 

John left him and joined a group of men 
nearer the fire. Ray climbed over into the sad- 
dle and made himself as comfortable as possible. 
People were arriving from every direction, 
mostly men, for only a few women had been 
brave enough to face the cold and darkness. 
Everybody looked excited in the fierce glare of 
the fire. All were moving about restlessly to find 
some one else who could give them something 
they had not heard about the fire. As the faces 
were lighted up by the fire, Ray was able to rec- 
ognize many of them. He saw the two Nettles 
boys in a group of men that had formed around 
Lige Westwood, who was commenting very 
freely on how the fire might have started. One 
of the Jeffersons and two of the Handlans were 
listening to Sandy Rowen’s version of the sub- 
ject. Bill Rupert and Sam Carson had with- 
drawn from all the rest and were conversing to- 
gether. Finally Ray, who was watching them 
more closely than any of the rest, saw them sep- 
arate and begin to mingle with the others. As 


174 


The Call of the Hills 


Carson moved about In a careless manner, Ray 
was sure that the careless manner was only as- 
sumed, and underneath was the subtlety of a 
serpent. He seemed careful to avoid engaging 
himself in conversation with John Whiteside. 
Ray felt that, somehow, Carson had a hand in 
the burning. His suspicion of his character had 
been growing in Ray’s mind ever since their first 
meeting. 

“How are you, Mr. Jones?” Ray was so 
intent on watching the actions of Carson that he 
was not aware of the approach of Dan Nettles. 

“Oh, I ’m getting along all right.” 

“This is hard luck for us all,” continued 
Dan, as he put his hand on old Roan’s neck. 
“How do you suppose it happened?” 

“I can’t imagine,” replied Ray. “I did n’t 
leave here till dark, and the fire in the stove was 
almost out when I left. It started soon after 
I left, for I had n’t got home when I found it 
out. Of course, I was not able to walk fast 
on account of my ankle. I met John coming 
to the fire; so came back with him.” While 
he was speaking to Dan, Westwood had come 


The Burning of the Schoolhouse 175 

up, and Ray turned to him as he said, “Rather 
unfortunate affair, isn’t it?” 

“I ’low ’t will be fer somebody,” was the 
meaning reply. 

“Do you suppose some one set it on fire?” 
asked Ray. 

“I ain’t s’posin’ nuthin’, but I can’t figure 
out how hit ’ud ketch by hitself. I ’low yer 
alius keerful ’bout the fire, ain’t yer? Jest like 
I tole yer ter be.” 

“I certainly am careful,” replied Ray, rather 
sharply, for he was somewhat irritated that the 
director would for a moment question his care- 
fulness. “I was just telling Dan that I did n’t 
leave here until dark, and the fire in the stove 
was almost out when I left.” 

“Ye didn’t git clar home, did yer, ’fore 
you come back?” Ray thought he noticed a 
note of triumph in the other’s voice as he asked 
the question. On receiving a negative reply the 
director continued: 

“Hit ’s funny yer did n’t notice nuthin’ ’fore 
yer left, fer hit shorely had ter git a hoop on 
hitself ter ketch, an’ nigh burn down ’fore yer 


176 


The Call of the Hills 


got ter the little crick on yer way home.” How 
did this man know where he had got to ? Then 
he thought of his meeting with Carson at the 
footbridge. That explained it. Carson had 
told him about it. But why was the director 
questioning him so closely? He was indignant 
and was about to reply hotly, but on second 
thought decided that it was best to control his 
feelings ; so he replied, quietly : 

am lame, Mr. Westwood, and had to 
walk very slowly. I stopped twice on my way 
to rest my ankle, and, of course, it took me some 
time to walk that distance.” 

“I would n’t ’a’ ’lowed ye ’d ’a’ stayed hayr 
so long when yer foot was in sich a condition.” 
Ray thought he noticed a sneer in the man’s 
voice, and he could not refrain from saying, 
rather sharply: 

“It ’s my business just how long I stay here.” 

“So ’t is,” replied the director, as he moved 
off; “but hit might be somebody’s else’s ’fore 
long.” Ray did not reply. The truth flashed 
upon him. He was suspected as the incendiary, 
and the circumstances were against him. He 


The Burning of the Schoolhouse 177 

looked around for Dan, but he was gone. He 
had walked away as soon as Westwood had be- 
gun to talk. 

' The fire had reached its crest and was slowly 
dying out, and the people were gradually leav- 
ing Presently John approached and said: 

“Wall, I ’low we ’ll go now.” Ray resumed 
his seat back of the saddle, and John mounted. 
As they were leaving the clearing Ray cast a 
sad glance at the ruins. For the first time in 
the four months he had been teaching here did 
he realize that he loved the spot and the work 
he was doing. The ride homeward was a silent 
one, as both men were occupied with their 
thoughts. Ray thanked John for his assistance 
as he dismounted at the Simpson gate. 

“Do n’t mention hit, teacher. I ’low yer ’ll 
need me some more ’fore yer through with them 
dirty devils; but don’t yer fergit thet John 
Whiteside ’s yer friend, an’ ’ll go through hell 
fer yer ef yer need him.” He gave his horse 
a jerk with the bits, and as he went up the road 
Ray heard him say, as if to himself, “Thet ’s 
ther game, be hit. Wall, I ’ll show ’em.” 


12 


CHAPTER XVI 


UNDER A CLOUD 

RS. SIMPSON was sweeping the 
front porch. She paused a moment 
to look down the road. A man was 
coming up the hill. Shading her eyes, 
she looked intently at him a moment, and then 
said to herself: 

“Thet ’s Lige Westwood. Wonder whar 
he ’s goin’ up this-a-way?” She leaned on her 
broomhandle to await his coming, for she was 
not the kind of a woman to let folks pass when 
there was an opportunity for gathering in news. 
That article was scarce enough anyway in that 
community, and she had an unappeasable ap- 
petite for it. She intended to hail Westwood 
if he attempted to pass without stopping, and 
for that reason she walked slowly toward the 
gate, pretending to sweep the walk as she went. 



178 


Under a Cloud 


179 


As she neared the gate she saw that he had no 
intention of passing, for he turned from the road 
and was coming her way. 

“Howdy, Mis’ Simpson!” he said, in his 
bland way. “ ’Pears like yer workin’ powerful 
brisk this mornin’.” 

“Yas,” she replied, leaning on the broom- 
handle; ‘‘hit shore does keep one a-movin’ ter 
keep things decent.” 

Westwood leaned up against the gate, as if 
he was not in any hurry and was preparing 
for a comfortable chat. Nothing could have 
pleased the lady better than this prospect for 
news. 

“Won’t yer come in the house?” she said, 
feeling her responsibility as hostess. 

“Naw; I ’low hit ain’t wuth while fer whut 
time I ’d stay;” and then, without giving her 
a chance to begin a series of questions, as she 
was preparing to do, he continued, “So the 
teacher ’s pulled out, hes he?” 

“Wy, yes; he ’s gone ter Union on a leetle 
business.” 

“I ’low hit air a leetle business, but hit ’ll 


180 


The Call of the Hills 


take a long time ter do it,” he replied, with a 
knowing look. 

“Wall, I do n’t know jist how long he ’ll 
be gone, but I do n’t ’low it ’ll be more ’n a 
week.” 

“Don’t yer know whut tuk him?” 

“All I know ’bout hit air thet he got a letter 
t’ other day thet ’peared ter work him up tur- 
rible, an’ hit ’peared like he could n’t git away 
fast ernuff. He said he hated ter leave in a 
time like this, but jist had ter. Then I jist up 
an’ ast him whut hit was thet was takin’ him 
so suddent, an’ he said thet he could n’t tell jist 
yet, but thet when he come back thet he ’d hev 
a great surprise fer the folks ’round hayr.” 

“Look hayr. Mis’ Simpson; do n’t yer know 
thet he hain’t cornin’ back ter this place no 
more?” 

“Why ain’t he?” said the woman, in sur- 
prise. “He ’s left his things hayr.” 

“Wall, thet hain’t nuthin’. He can better 
afford ter lose them things than his hide.” 

“Whut d’ yer mean, man?” Her curiosity 
was almost overcoming her. 


Under a Cloud 


181 


“I mean thet he burnt the skeulhouse, an’ 
ef he had n’t left hayr when he did, thet there ’d 
been some trouble fer him.” 

“O Lordy! D’ye ’low he done It? I’d 
never ’lowed hit of him,” replied the woman, 
as if thunderstricken. 

“Hit ain’t nobody else. Sam Carson met 
him crossIn’ thet bridge, an’ he said thet the 
teacher acted es ef he had n’t seed the fire tel 
Carson pinted hit out ter him. He said hisself 
thet he had n’t left thar tel a’ter dark, an’ yer 
know thet he never got home afore the fire.” 
He looked off down the road with a self-satisfied 
air, as If he had proved the teacher’s guilt be- 
yond a doubt. 

“Wall, I wouldn’t never ’a’ ’lowed hit of 
him, but hit ’pears like hit ’s true, from whut 
yer say,” said the woman, shaking her head 
sadly. 

“ ’Course hit ’s so. Can’t be no doubt ’bout 
hit. Wy, ever’body In the whole deestrlct ’lows 
hit’s so;” and then he added, In a martyr-like 
tone: “Ef the board hed listened ter me we ’d 
hed our skeulhouse, fer I was ag’In’ hirin’ him. 


182 


The Call of the Hills 


Mebbe the ’ll git ter thinkin’ thet I know sum- 
pin’ arter while.” He turned as if to go, and 
continued: “Wall, I ’low I’d better be gittin’ 
’long up ter Whiteside’s, fer we ’ve got ter make 
some arrangements ’bout the skeul, I ’low. 
Wonder how Phil Nettles feels ’bout hirin’ him 
now ? Good-bye ! I hope the’ ’s ’nuff left in 
his things ter pay yer his board bill.” 

Mrs. Simpson made no reply to the last re- 
mark. She watched the man go up the road 
until he disappeared behind some trees. She 
was still dazed by the news. She had put so 
much confidence in the teacher, and now to 
think of what he had done was too much for 
her comprehension. The thought of it not being 
true never entered her mind. She was such a 
woman as accepted everything she heard as if 
it were gospel truth. She turned and went into 
the house with a sad heart. Lou was in the 
kitchen singing at her work. She looked at her 
mother as she entered, and her troubled face 
made her stop in the midst of her song. 

“What on earth has happened, mother?” 
she said. 


Under a Cloud 


183 


“Lou, the teacher hes run away, fer hit was 
him thet burnt the skeulhouse.” She sank into 
a chair beside the door as she spoke. 

“What do you mean, mother?” asked the 
girl, excitedly. 

Then the mother told her daughter what she 
had just heard from the director concerning 
Ray’s guilt. During the recital the girl stood 
with bated breath, a look of fiery indignation 
growing in her eyes, which the mother thought 
was against the teacher, who had proved to be 
such a sneak. She added : “Hit ’s too bad he ’s 
sich a low-down sneak, hain’t it?” 

“Mother, why do you say that? Surely you 
do n’t believe all these lies you have heard,” said 
Lou, in a pained voice. 

“Wy, of course I b’leve hit. They say thet 
the circumstances air ag’in’ him, an’ ever’body 
in the deestrict ’lows hit ’s so. Hit shorely must 
be so.” The mother seemed surprised that the 
girl questioned it for a moment. 

“I do n’t care what the circumstances may 
be or what people think. I do n’t believe he is 
guilty,” replied the daughter, with vehemence. 


184 


The Call of the Hills 


“Wy, Lou ; I ’m shore s’prised at yer. He ’s 
gone, knowin’ thet all this talk is goin’ ’round 
’bout him. Ef he ain’t guilty, whut ’ud he leave 
fer at sich a time?” 

“He had business, very important business, 
just as he said, or he never would have left. 
He will be back in two or three days, for he 
has been gone three days already, and you know 
he said that he would be back inside of a week, 
and I know he will come, if possible.” 

“Wall, I hope yer right in yer way o’ 
thinkin’; but I ’m mighty feared yer ain’t,” she 
replied, as she picked up a pan of shelled corn 
and went out the back door to the chicken house. 
As she scattered the yellow grains before the 
greedy fowls her mind was in a whirl. West- 
wood had caused her to think that the teacher 
was guilty, and now Lou had defended him so 
stanchly that she did not know just what to 
believe about it all. Lou was unlike her mother 
in this, for when she had made up her mind 
about anything it was very hard to change it. 
She felt sure that the gang that was the terror 
of the community was at the bottom of it all. 


Under a Cloud 


185 


and she indulged in some very indignant 
thoughts concerning them. While she was thus 
engaged she heard some one whistle out toward 
the front gate. On going to the front door she 
saw it was John Whiteside, and her face im- 
mediately lighted up with a smile as she said, 
“Come on in, John.” She went out to meet 
him with both hands outstretched. He took her 
hands in his, and she led him toward the house. 

“I did n’t know ef yer wanted me ter come 
in er not,” he said, rather sheepishly. 

“Oh, I ’m so glad you have come, John, 
for I have just heard some awful things about 
Mr. Jones, and I wanted to talk to you about 
them.” 

“Yer needn’t tell me, fer I already know,” 
he replied. “Lige Westwood come up ter the 
house and was tellin’ paw a whole lot of stuff, 
an’, of course, paw b’l’eves hit all. I heerd 
Lige say thet he ’d been down hayr an’ made 
yer maw think hit was so. Yer don’t b’l’eve 
hit, d’ yer, Lou?” 

“Not a word of it, John,” she replied, 
firmly. 


186 


The Call of the Hills 


“Wall, I ’m powerful glad thet yer do n’t, 
fer if yer did, hit ’ud make hit mighty hard fer 
me ter stand by him an’ yer not b’l’eving in him. 
I wish he ’d come back soon, fer hit ’s hard ter 
make other folks b’l’eve he ain’t guilty and him 
gone.” 

“Don’t you worry, John, for he ’ll be back 
in a short time. Oh, I ’m so glad that you be- 
lieve in him, for there is an awful cloud hanging 
over him, and he needs friends who will stand 
by him !” The two sweethearts talked long and 
tenderly of their future happiness and of the 
one who had helped them so much. 

On that same day Roxy sat in her little room 
alone. She had tried to read, but the book lay 
on her lap unnoticed. Her eyes were red, as 
if she had been weeping, and she was looking 
listlessly out of the window at the barren trees. 
She felt that they were sympathetic friends, for 
she had never felt such a bleak barrenness in 
her life as she did at that moment. She had 
heard of the cloud of suspicion that over- 
shadowed the teacher, and she had heard just 


Under a Cloud 


187 


that morning that he had left the country. She 
still believed in him. She knew that he had 
never burned the schoolhouse; but why was he 
gone? Surely he could have explained his ab- 
sence to some one. Perhaps he had gotten dis- 
gusted with the people for so unjustly accusing 
him of things he had never done, and had de- 
cided to leave forever. As she thought of it all, 
her cherished plans for the uplift of the people 
seemed blasted. He had done so much for 
them, but had only opened up the way for a 
larger service; and now he was gone. Why? 
That was the unanswerable question that was 
ever recurring to her thoughts. “He will come 
back; he must come back,” her heart cried out 
within her. The tears broke out afresh and 
rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away 
and continued to look out of the window. She 
saw two men come out of the woods and walk 
up the road in the direction of her home. As 
they came nearer she saw that it was Sam Carson 
and Bill Rupert. A shudder passed through 
her. She did not hate any one; but to her the 
two men were repulsive. She shrank from them 


188 


The Call of the Hills 


as a dove might shrink from a serpent. She 
felt that they were responsible for all this harm 
that had been done against Ray. Her brother 
Dan was going out toward the gate. Roxy saw 
the two men stop and speak to him. Then, as 
Dan leaned against the gate, they came up to 
where he stood, and Carson seemed to be talk- 
ing earnestly to him; and while she could not 
hear what was said, she was sure that it was 
about the burning of the schoolhouse, for Car- 
son pointed in that direction several times as he 
talked. Presently the two moved off up the 
road and Dan came into the house. Her father 
and George were inside waiting for dinner. She 
heard Dan speak to them as he entered: “Well, 
Carson says it is a clear case against the teacher. 
He says that he has heard that this is not the 
first time he has committed crime, and that he 
is wanted back in Illinois for something he did 
before he came out here, and he has just been 
hiding from the authorities. He said that Joe 
Simpson told him that the reason the teacher 
left so suddenly was, he received a letter calling 
him to Union on business. He said that he 


Under a Cloud 


189 


seemed very much excited over it and left that 
evening, telling them that he would be back in 
a few days. Carson says that the men up around 
Spring Bluff all believe that it was a letter warn- 
ing him that the authorities from Illinois were 
on his trail.” 

Then the fair listener upstairs heard her 
father reply: ‘‘Wall, hit shore is strange why 
he left so suddent like, ’specially when he 
knowed the’ was a suspicion agin’ him about 
burnin’ down the skeulhouse.” 

“Well, father,” asked George, “do you sup- 
pose that he did it?” 

“I can’t say he did, ner I can’t say he. 
did n’t,” was the reply. “Things look mighty 
bad fer him. My ’pinion of him hes alius been 
fust rate, and I wish ef hit hed been possible 
thet he hed stayed and dared it all up.” 

Just then the mother ’s voice was heard call- 
ing to dinner, and Roxy hastily wiped her eyes 
and went down to join the family around the 
table. They were all seated when she entered. 
Her father was telling the boys of some work 
he had planned for the afternoon; so they did 


190 


The Call of the Hills 


not pay any attention to her as she entered, but 
she knew that her mother’s eyes were on her. 
She glanced at her kind face and saw those 
sympathetic eyes looking at her. Then she 
dropped hers, for they were filling with tears. 
She was glad when the meal was finished, for 
the men went out, and she was left alone with 
her mother. The latter took her daughter in 
her arms and kissed her as she said, “Roxy, 
dear, remember that there is not a cloud so 
dark but that it has a silver lining.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


AT THE OLD MILL 

T was getting late in the afternoon. 
Darkness was rapidly settling down 
in the valleys amid the hills. A lone 
traveler was walking along the valley 
road. He had crossed Spring Creek at the mill 
and was moving onward up the road. He could 
hear the cry of a catamount somewhere in the 
hill above him. It had been following him up 
there among the rocks and trees for some time. 
He was trying to get to a house before nightfall, 
for he knew that darkness would make the beast 
bolder, and it would more than likely attack him. 
A fight with a catamount was not to his liking, 
armed only with a hickory stick, which he used 
to assist him in walking, for one might notice 
a limp in his gait. Again the weird cry broke 
the stillness; this time nearer than before. He 



191 


192 


The Call of the Hills 


could not go any faster on account of his lame- 
ness, and he dared not stop. Presently his at- 
tention was caught by a low growl coming from 
the bushes by the roadside, not ten feet away. 
He turned his eyes toward the spot and saw a 
low-crouching figure moving along parallel with 
him. He saw that flight was impossible, and 
there was no other recourse but to fight. Ac- 
cordingly he faced about and gripped the stick 
with both hands, swinging it over his shoulder, 
and stood ready to strike when it became neces- 
sary. He saw the wary beast stop and assume 
a crouching position. He knew it was ready for 
a spring, and his only hope was in sidestepping 
and hitting it with his stick as it passed. Be- 
fore he hardly realized it he saw a body passing 
through the air, and felt something like fur 
brush his cheek. He had successfully side- 
stepped, and only the tip of the creature’s tail 
had brushed his face; but he had failed to use 
his stick. He quickly turned about to face the 
attack from the other side of the road. As he 
did so he saw the beast leave the ground as it 
sprang at him again. This time he swung a 


At the Old Mill 


193 


vicious blow at it that caught it in the middle 
part of the body. The animal gave a yell of 
pain as it half fell among the bushes. The man 
knew that the blow had only been the means of 
making it angry, and it would be even bolder 
than it had been. However, the blow had been 
enough to keep it from springing at him again 
immediately, and in the respite he had time to 
brace himself for a final stroke. When the 
catamount finally sprang, his stick met it fairly 
between the eyes, and it fell limply into the road 
at the man’s feet. Instantly his stick was de- 
scending upon its head in sharp quick blows. 
When he stooped to examine it he found that 
its head had been crushed. 

The man turned his face up the road and 
continued his journey until he arrived at the 
Simpson place, where he turned in. He opened 
the door without knocking and found the family 
gathered around the fire. Mrs. Simpson was 
knitting as she engaged Joe in conversation, 
while Lou was reading a book. They had not 
heard the approach of the man, and were sur- 
prised when he entered. 


13 


194 


The Call of the Hills 


“Why, if it is n’t Mr. Jones!” said Lou, as 
she dropped her book and came toward him with 
extended hand. “We are so glad to see you. 
Your week is up to-morrow.” 

“I ’low he ’s hungry, Lou, ef he ’s walked 
all the way from Union to-day,” said Mrs. 
Simpson, as she started for the kitchen in con- 
fusion, for it was like one arising from the dead 
for her to see Ray again, as she had fully made 
up her mind that he had gone for good. “Come 
right in the kitchen, and I ’ll set you out some 
supper.” 

“All right, for I ’m hungry enough to eat 
the catamount I killed down the road just a little 
while ago,” said Ray, pleasantly. 

“Did yer kill a catamount?” asked Joe. “I 
betcher hit ’s the one I saw down at the mill 
tother week.” 

“It was just a short distance this side of the 
mill where I killed it.” 

Ray ate his supper as he talked to the family 
of his trip; but in all that he said he did not 
mention his reason for going so suddenly. After 
supper he went to bed, saying that he was tired. 


At the Old Mill 


195 


The next morning he arose rather late, and 
when he went out to breakfast he found all the 
family out save Lou. He greeted her so cheerily, 
that she thought he did not know of the cloud 
that was overshadowing him, and she was won- 
dering whether or not she had better tell him. 
Her face wore such a solemn expression that he 
noticed and remarked on it. “What is the mat- 
ter, Lou? You look so sad.” 

“I was just worrying about you, Mr. Jones. 
Perhaps you do n’t know that nearly everybody 
thinks you burnt the schoolhouse,” replied the 
girl. 

“Well, I did not know it was so bad as that. 
Of course, I knew there were a few who thought 
I was guilty. But what do you think about it?” 

“I? Why, Mr. Jones, I ’m ashamed of you 
to think that you would have the least doubt of 
my faith in you,” she said, reproachfully. 

“I did n’t doubt you, Lou,” he said, looking 
at her gratefully; “but it does me good to hear 
you say that you trust me.” And then, as if 
half to himself, he said, “I wonder what Roxy 
thinks?” 


196 


The Call of the Hills 


“I have n’t seen her lately, but I ’m sure she 
thinks just as I do about it,” said the girl. 

“And John,” he continued, musingly, “dear 
old John? I know what he thinks. ‘Teacher, 
I ’ll go through hell fer ye,’ ” — he repeated 
John’s words almost reverently — “and I know 
he ’d do it.” Then he added, in a brisk tone : 
“What care I what the rest think when I have 
three such stanch friends — or, I should have 
said five, for I know that Uncle Jim and Aunt 
Sue are still my friends. Lou,” he continued, 
“I ’m not worrying about this, for I know that 
I am innocent, and I know that God needs me 
here. I am willing to stay and do the work He 
wants me to do here, and I am sure that He 
will take care of me.” Then he added, with a 
twinkle in his eye, “I am going to spring a 
surprise on this neighborhood that will make 
some folks mighty glad.” 

“What is it?” asked the girl. 

“I can’t tell you just yet, but you just wait. 
It won’t be long until you shall know. I ’m 
going down on Spring Creek now,” he said, as 
he arose from the table, “and I may not be back 


At the Old Mill 


197 


until to-morrow.” Then, walking over to Lou, 
he took both her hands and, looking down into 
her earnest eyes, said, “Lou, you are a good 
girl, and I am so glad you love John, for I 
love you both, my dear, good friends.” The 
girl’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude as he 
turned to go. She watched him go down the 
hill, and then turned back to her work, softly 
singing a hymn he had taught her: 

When I fear my faith will fail, 

Christ will hold me fast. 

When the tempter would prevail, 

He can hold me fast. 

It is needless to say that Ray was received 
very warmly by his two old friends on Spring 
Creek. The day was spent very pleasantly by 
the three. Ray told them all about his trip, but 
refrained from stating the reason for going at 
such a time. He said to them, as he had said 
to Lou, that some folks would be greatly sur- 
prised very soon. Late in the afternoon Roxy 
came, and the greeting between the two young 
people was somewhat restrained. Ray was 
quick to notice that there was some reserve about 


198 


The Call of the Hills 


her. The usual frankness was not there. It 
worried him, and he determined to find out the 
cause for this change as soon as the opportunity 
presented itself. 

The snow had almost disappeared. The 
air, while it was still sharp, had a certain soft- 
ness about it that was suggestive of spring, and 
it was very pleasant to be out-of-doors. It was 
sunset as the two started out for the walk. 
Their steps were directed toward the mill. 

“I wanted to ask you what you think of this 
cloud of suspicion that is hovering about me?” 
he began, abruptly. “I knew you would be 
frank about it and tell me just how you feel.” 

The girl lifted her blue eyes to his as she 
replied: “Mr. Jones, you ought to know that 
I trust you and that I believe all this report 
concerning you is untrue.” 

“But you know the circumstances are against 
me.” 

“Yes; but that matters not with me. The 
only thing that I could not understand was why 
you left so suddenly at such a time without say- 
ing anything to me — your friends about it. It 


At the Old Mill 


199 


made it so hard on your friends in defending 
you, as they did not know where you were gone 
or why.” And then she added softly, “I never 
thought of doubting you.” 

“Roxy, I ’m going to tell you why I went 
away so mysteriously, but it must be a secret for 
the present.” 

“I promise to keep it.” 

They were near the mill. Night had settled 
down, but a full moon appeared in the east, and 
its silvery rays were flooding the valley. The 
couple had stopped now and were facing each 
other. A moonbeam played in the depth of the 
girPs wondrous blue eyes as she turned her ex- 
pectant face upward to his to hear the secret. 

“I have found Don Watkins,” the words 
came slowly and clearly. 

“Is it true?” She started back in surprise. 

“It is true, and that was my mission to 
Union.” 

“But where is he?” she asked, quickly. 

“That will all be explained in time. Please 
don’t ask me any more about him to-night. 
Just believe when I say that was my mission to 


200 The Call of the Hills 

Union and that I have found him and he is 
coming home soon.’’ 

“I believe you and will wait.” Her face 
was radiant now as she stood in the soft moon- 
light. Ray wanted to take her in his arms and 
pour his love into her ear, but duty held him 
back. 

“Look!” she said, stepping quickly into the 
shadow and pointing to the opposite side of the 
creek. He looked in the direction indicated and 
saw two men coming down the road to the ford. 
At first he did not recognize them, but as they 
came nearer he saw that it was Sam Carson and 
Bill Rupert. They crossed the stream on the 
stepping-stones and were soon concealed from 
the view of the two in the shadow by the high 
bank. They were heard to enter the mill, and 
their voices floated down but indistinctly to Roxy 
and Ray. Presently other men approached and 
entered the mill until their number was six. 

“Some mischief, Roxy,” whispered Ray. 
“Keep in the shadow and wait for me.” Then 
he slipped stealthily up to the mill and disap- 
peared under it. He was not gone long, but 


At the Old Mill 


201 


it seemed an age to the waiting girl. When 
he came back to her he took her hand, and with- 
out a word they rapidly left the spot, careful 
to keep in the shadow. When they were at a 
safe distance from the mill he said: “They are 
planning to rob the postoffice at Spring Bluff to- 
morrow night. I was under the floor of the 
mill and could hear them perfectly.” 

The girl was trembling from head to foot 
and was very pale when they entered the house, 
but neither of the old people noticed it. 

“If you are going home to-night I ’ll walk 
with you,” said Ray. 

“I ’ll be very glad oif your company,” she 
replied. After she had told the old people good- 
night, and Ray had told them that he would be 
back to spend the night with them, they started. 

They had climbed the hill and were near 
the spot where Ray had met Bill Rupert and 
where a few hours later Roxy and Lou had 
formed a bond of friendship. Ray took the 
girl’s hand that lay so lightly on his arm and 
faced her as he said: “Roxy, I can’t keep it from 
you any longer. Listen to what I say. I love 


202 


The Call of the Hills 


you.” The words came slowly, as if he found 
pleasure in lingering on them. She drooped her 
head; he drew her unresistingly to him. 

“Why did you want to keep it from me?” 
she said. 

“Because I promised Bill Rupert that if he 
would be a man worthy of you I would not 
stand, in his way in trying to win you. But to- 
night I am convinced that he is not going to 
try to be a man.” 

“Well, if he had tried he could never have 
won my heart, for it is yours, and has been for 
quite a while.” He kissed her upturned lips 
tenderly, and they started on. Ray felt as if 
he was treading a path of roses that night as 
he returned to Uncle Jim’s, after he had lingered 
long in telling Roxy good-night at her own door. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FOILED 

HE next morning as John Whiteside 
was going out to the barn to do the 
feeding he saw the teacher coming up 
the hill toward him. John greeted 
him very cordially and invited him into the 
house. 

“No, John, I would rather go out to the 
barn with you, for I have something to tell you 
that no one else must hear just now.” 

When they arrived at the barn they seated 
themselves on the log doorsill and Ray began: 
“I heard it last night by accident, and it may 
be a great surprise to you. It is this: there is 
a plan to rob the Spring Bluff postoffice to- 
night.” John looked at him curiously. “I know 
it sounds strange; but you see it is this way.” 
And Ray told John what he and Roxy had seen 



203 


204 


The Call of the Hills 


at the mill on the preceding night, and how he 
had crawled under the mill and had heard the 
plan. 

When he finished, John arose and said: “I 
’low the’ ’re fixin’ ter lay sumpin’ else on ter yer ; 
but we ’ll show ’em this time whut ’s whut.” 

Ray arose and stood beside the giant. He. 
was not a small man himself, and as the two 
stood side by side they were fair examples of the 
finished and primitive article. 

“But what shall we do about it?” said Ray 
after a moment ’s pause. 

“Yer jist leave thet ter me. Mister Jones, 
and there ’ll be plenty doin’,” replied John, with 
a twinkle in his eye. “Yer jist go home an’ rest, 
an’ do n’t yer worry ’bout hit, fer yer ’ve hed 
’bout ’nuff ter worry most men ter death already. 
I ’ll ’tend to ’em.” 

“But look here, John. If there ’s to be an 
attempt to capture them to-night, remember that 
I ’m to be counted in, for I made the discovery 
of the plan, and I want to have a hand in the 
fun.” 

“Oh, wall, ef yer determined ter hev a hand 


Foiled 205 

in hit, wy, all right; but let me make all the ar- 
rangements fer the s’prise party.” 

“Of course, I ’ll gladly turn the whole thing 
over to you, knowing that you can manage it 
better than I can; but I want to be invited to 
the party, anyway.” 

“Wall, yer jist go home an’ rest easy, an’ 
I ’ll call fer yer this evenin’.” Then he added, 
with a look of admiration in his eye, “Yer jist 
’bout the grittiest eddicated feller I ever seed.” 

Ray laughed and said: “You wait, John. 
You don’t know whether I ’ll stand under fhre 
or not.” 

“Standin’ up afore a gun ain’.t alius a sign 
of bravery. Hit ’s the man thet can’t be bluffed 
outen his job that ’s a brave man.” 

“Well, so long, John. I ’ll look for you 
this evening.” 

After the teacher had gone, John stood look- 
ing out across the sun-kissed valley, where the 
first signs of spring were beginning to appear. 
The trees were still bare, but the snow had dis- 
appeared, save for little patches here and there, 
which were rapidly disappearing under the in- 


206 


The Call of the Hills 


fluence of the sun’s rays. The sweet-voiced 
songsters were beginning the rehearsals of their 
anthems that should announce the advent of 
spring. The air had a certain softness that 
made one feel dreamy. John was not aware 
of all this as he stood there that morning, for 
his mind was filled with sterner thoughts than 
these. He was planning how he might over- 
throw the evil power that had been wielded over 
the neighborhood by a gang of lawless men; 
how he might clear the name of the man who 
had been a benefactor to the community and 
had proved to be his best friend. And perhaps 
in capturing this gang the mystery of his own 
and his brother’s wrong might be solved, for he 
was sure that this gang was responsible for both. 
When he had done his feeding he saddled his 
big roan horse and rode rapidly up the road to 
Spring Bluff. When he arrived there he found 
the usual crowd of loafers scattered about the 
store porch. He dismounted and tied his horse ; 
then he joined them. As he took his seat on the 
edge of the porch in their midst they greeted 
him in backwoods style. Pulling out a big black 


Foiled 


207 


plug of tobacco, he very deliberately bit off a big 
chew, and as he was about to return it to his 
pocket one of the men near him said, “Gimme 
a chaw, John.” He handed it over. “B’l’eve 
I ’ll take one tu, es hit ’s handy,” said another. 
“Hain’t got mine with me; so ’low I ’d be much 
erbleged ter yer fer one,” said a third. And so 
it went the rounds. When it was finally handed 
back to the owner it had so diminished in size 
that it was hardly worth putting back into his 
pocket; so he offered the remainder to a stranger 
who had just joined them. He refused, how- 
ever, thanking the donor very courteously. He 
was a young man, very tall and straight, and 
had a soft blue eye. His face wore a boyish 
expression, although it was half concealed by a 
short beard. He was dressed in a neat dark 
suit and a soft felt hat. From every appearance 
he was a man from the outer world. 

“Would you kindly tell me where I can find 
Mr. Jones, the teacher?” The crowd gave a 
perceptible start at the words of the stranger. 

John gave the answer. “He stays at Simp- 
son’s, ’bout two miles down that road.” 


208 


The Call of the Hills 


“Do you suppose I ’ll find him at home ?” 

“Yer shore to, fer I jlst saw him ’fore I 
left home, an’ he is to be at home all day.” 

Thanking John for the information, he 
started off down the road in the direction of 
Simpson’s. 

“Funny he didn’t ast how ter git thar,” 
said one of the company. 

“Mebbe he ’s been hayr afore,” said an- 
other. 

“ ’Pears ter me es ef I ’ve seed him some- 
whar,” said still another. 

“His face air a little familiar-lookin’,” said 
the first. John left the men at their discussion 
and went inside the store. As he did so he saw 
Sam Carson sitting on a box, leaning against a 
counter, talking in his usual fluent manner to 
Mr. Ware, the storekeeper and postmaster. He 
turned upon John a bland smile and said: “How 
do you do, John, I am glad to see that you are 
getting around again. You seem to have fully 
recovered your strength.” 

“I ’low so,” was the short answer. 

“I was just telling Mr. Ware that if this 


Foiled 209 

weather keeps up that it won’t be long until you 
farmers can be breaking ground.” 

John sat down without making any reply to 
the last remark of the young man, and the lat- 
ter turned his attention to Mr. Ware once more. 
Presently a man came in to do some trading. 
After he had bought a few articles he purchased 
a stamp and mailed a letter. John watched Car- 
son from under his hat, which was drawn down 
over his eyes. He was sure he saw him closely 
watching the merchant as the latter opened the 
safe in order to make some change. After Mr. 
Ware had satisfied the wants of the customer 
and had returned to his seat, Carson arose and 
said, “Well, I guess I ’ll be on my way, for I ’m 
going to Sullivan, to be gone a few days.” As 
he went to the door and out into the road he 
little realized that a giant backwoodsman who 
sat silently chewing and spitting his black to- 
bacco saw through his well-acted ruse and was at 
that moment laying a plan that would foil him. 

After he had gone, John called Mr. Ware 
aside and had a low-toned conversation with 
him, which seemed to excite the merchant very 


14 


210 


The Call of the Hills 


much. After John had left the store he went 
over to Nettles’s and had a brief talk with the 
three men there, and then went home. 

That evening just after dark two men rode 
up in front of the gate at Simpson’s and whis- 
tled. The door of the house was opened almost 
immediately, and the teacher, accompanied by 
the stranger of the morning, came out. 

“So you did not forget me, John,” said Ray; 
and then, seeing John nod a questioning nod to- 
ward the stranger, he continued: “He’s all 
right. He will help us out. He is a friend of 
mine.” 

“Yer can ride ’hind me, an’ he can ride 
’hind paw,” said John, pointing toward the 
stranger. 

The moon was flooding the earth with its 
glorious light when the party arrived at the 
store. John took the horses into the woods 
across the road, where they were perfectly con- 
cealed. Then they went around to the side door 
of the store and were admitted by Mr. Ware. 
The store was dark, save for the moonlight 
coming in at the back window. 


Foiled 


211 


“The others air all hayr,” said the merchant; 
and Mr. Nettles, his three sons, and three other 
men came forward out of the darkness. 

“I ’low we ’ll outnumber them,” said John, 
as he looked over the force, an’ then hit ’ll be 
a s’prise anyhow. Now yer ’d better git home, 
Mr. Ware, so ’s they can call yer out ter un- 
lock fer ’em when they come, fer they ’ll be 
hayr ’fore long.” 

The merchant slipped quietly out, locked the 
door behind him, and went to his house, just a 
few steps from the store. 

As soon as he had gone John took command. 

“How many guns yer got?” he asked. All 
were armed. “That ’s good. Now le’s git be- 
hind the counter an’ wait tel they come. Do n’t 
fire tel I give the word.” They all quickly 
obeyed, and when they were crouched behind 
the counter, John spoke again: “We don’t 
wan’ ter take no chances, fer they ’re go’n’ ter 
fight hard when they find out thet they ’re 
ketched.” 

More than an hour had passed, when the 
patience of the little squad was rewarded by 


212 


The Call of the Hills 


hearing the sound of hoofbeats on the ground. 
John slipped to the front window and peered 
out. He saw six men dismount from their 
horses, and one of them took the horses into 
the woods, while the five came up toward the 
store and passed around to the side on which the 
merchant’s house was situated. The watcher 
could not see their faces, for they all wore 
masks; but he was sure that the lithe, graceful 
figure in the lead was Sam Carson. As John 
resumed his position with the others behind the 
counter a loud knocking was heard, and then 
voices speaking in indistinct tones. Presently 
footsteps approached the door, and a key grated 
in the lock. Mr. Ware entered, followed by the 
five masked men. The men behind the counter 
silently cocked their guns and awaited the signal 
of their leader. One of the robbers continued 
to cover the merchant with his gun, while the 
other four went to rifling the. stamp and money 
drawers, which were empty. 

“The’ hain’t nuthin’ in hayr,” said one. 

“I know it,” replied another, who was rum- 
maging under the shelves. “Have the old gent 


Foiled 


213 


step over this way and open this safe.” Mr. 
Ware went forward and knelt down before the 
safe and began to work the combination. The 
door swung open; he arose and stepped back, 
while the robbers gathered around and began 
to examine the contents. So engrossed were 
they that they failed to notice the figures ap- 
proaching silently from the other side of the 
room. 

“Hands up I” 

They turned with one accord, firing as they 
did so. One of the ten figures fell. 

“Fire I” came the command, and nine guns 
were discharged. Two of the robbers went 
down, and the other three, seeing they were 
hopelessly outnumbered, dropped their guns and 
threw up their hands. 

“Come on, some of you fellers, an’ tie ’em !” 
said John. At that moment one of the masked 
men made a dash for the door, which was un- 
guarded; but the move was foreseen by the tall, 
bearded stranger, who quickly grasped the flee- 
ing robber and jerked him roughly back. Then 
he tore the mask from the captive’s face and, 


214 


The Call of the Hills 


backing him toward the window, where the light 
fell on his face, he said in a strained voice, “Is 
it you, Jack?” The horrified robber looked into 
the face of his captor; and then, as if he recog- 
nized him, a look of triumph overspread his 
features as he replied: “So you are posing as 
somebody, are you ? Well, it won’t be long until 
they find you out, and then you ’ll go with us.” 

“I ’ve paid my penalty,” said the stranger, 
quietly, “and I am a sadder but, I trust, a wiser 
man.” 

The three men were securely bound, and a 
light was brought, so that the wounded might 
be attended to. The one who had fallen among 
the party of captors was one of Nettles’s neigh- 
bors. His wound was not serious, being in the 
forearm. One of the robbers, who proved to 
be a Jefferson, was also slightly wounded; but 
the other, who was Sandy Rowen, was shot 
through the stomach and appeared to be in a 
dying condition. They lifted him up on the 
counter and made him as comfortable as pos- 
sible, while they attended to his wound as best 
they could. When the masks were removed 


Foiled 215 

from the faces of the other two they were found 
to be one of the Handlans and Bill Rupert. 

“I ’low we ’ll hev ter spend the rest of the 
night with yer, Mr. Ware, fer the sheriff won’t 
be hayr tel momin’. I sent word fer him ter 
come, but ’lowed we could manage with these 
gen’lemen tel then. Dan, you and George go 
out and invite the other gentleman in ef he ’s 
thar yit. I ’low he might git tired waiten’ out 
there.” 

The two brothers went out, laughing at 
John’s droll speech, but soon returned, saying 
that the gentleman was not to be found. 

“He ’lowed he ’d find better comp’ny somers 
else,” said one of the men, on hearing the re- 
port. 

All through the night the captors guarded 
their prisoners and did what they could to re- 
lieve the suffering of the wounded. They di- 
vided in two squads, and one slept while the 
other watched. Ray was in John’s squad, and 
was to sleep the first part of the night. He lay 
down on the floor on some sacks, but try as he 
would, he could not sleep. As he lay there he 


216 


The Call of the Hills 


could see the prisoners lying in a row, apparently 
fast asleep. The three Nettleses were guarding. 
They refrained from talking, so that they would 
not disturb those who were sleeping, and the 
forced silence and inactivity had a drowsy effect 
upon them. Presently they were all three 
asleep. Ray saw a slight movement among the 
captives, and at first thought to arouse the 
guards ; but when he remembered that the pris- 
oners were securely bound he decided that it 
was unnecessary. In a moment he saw Carson 
raise himself upon his elbow and slowly move 
his hand down toward his bound feet. Ray was 
about to give the alarm, when out from the 
shadow a low voice uttered the name, “Hartsel.” 
Carson immediately dropped to the floor. As 
Ray glanced across the room he saw the bearded 
stranger in a half-reclining position, pointing a 
gun at Carson. No one else was conscious of 
what was passing. Presently George Nettles 
awoke from his nap, and as he did so the 
stranger dropped to the floor. George awoke 
the other two sleepers. At first they seemed 


Foiled 


217 


alarmed, but when they saw that the prisoners 
were still safe they settled back in their seats and 
determined to be more careful the remainder of 
their watch. At two o’clock the other squad 
relieved them, and they sat fully awake until the 
break of day. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE SILVER LINING 


^^j^ERY early in the morning came the 
sheriff with a posse. They had rid- 



den hard from the county seat during 


mmm 


the night. All the prisoners were soon 
ready for the return trip — all save Sandy Rowen. 
Upon examination it was found that his wound 
was so serious that it would be impossible for 
him to be moved. It was therefore arranged to 
place him in the room back of the store and 
await some change in his condition. As the 
posse were preparing to start with their pris- 
oners, Carson looked at the group of bystanders 
maliciously and, nodding his head to where the 
master and stranger stood, he said: “Never 
mind, gentlemen, your time is coming soon to 
wear this jewelry.” Here he held up his hands, 
displaying the handcuffs. No one replied, and 
in a moment the officers and their prisoners dis- 


218 



219 


The Silver Lining 

appeared in the distance. After they had gone 
the crowd of men began to show signs of break- 
ing up. Ray held up his hand in a gesture to 
detain them, as he said : “Just a moment, friends. 
Before you go, let me tell you who my friend 
here is. Perhaps you know him better than I 
do, but he is somewhat changed, and you have 
failed to recognize him. This is your old friend, 
Donald Watkins.” 

If a flash of lightning had come from the 
cloudless sky that morning it would not have 
caused more amazement than did that announce- 
ment of Ray’s. John Whiteside was the first to 
recover himself, and he approached the stranger, 
looked into his face a moment and said: “Wall, 
hit shore is Uncle Jim’s boy, Don, though I ’d 
never ’a’ knowed yer with them whiskers.” By 
this time all the men were gathered around and 
were shaking hands with Don and asking him 
all kinds of questions. “Whar yer been all this 
time?” “When did yer git back?” and many 
more. The young man very courteously told 
them that he had been in a good many places, 
and that he had just arrived in the community 


220 


The Call of the Hills 


on the day before. After he had answered 
many more curious questions he excused himself, 
telling them that he had not seen his parents yet, 
and that he was so anxious to see them that he 
was going to his home at once. He and the 
master immediately started for Don’s home. 
When they came to the brow of the hill over- 
looking the valley in which the little house was, 
Don stopped and said, “Mr. Jones, you go on 
down, and when you are inside the house I ’ll 
stand on that rock and whistle, as I used to do, 
and see if they remember.” 

While Ray was going down the hillside, 
Don Watkins viewed from the old rock, on 
which he had stood many times as a boy, the 
home of his boyhood. As he gazed upon the 
quiet little valley with the little log house in its 
midst, the tears began to roll down his cheeks. 
He thought of all his wayward, misspent life, 
and how he had neglected his kind old parents. 
A wave of remorse swept over his soul. When 
the master had disappeared he wiped his eyes, 
placed his finger to his lips, and gave a long, 
shrill whistle that went echoing off down 


221 


The Silver Lining 

through the valley. The back door of the little 
house opened and he saw his mother appear, 
shade her eyes with her hands, and look upward. 
He waved his hand. She recognized him and 
started toward the side gate to meet him. He 
dashed down the hillside and was soon encircled 
by those trembling old arms. By this time the 
father had joined them and had thrown his arms 
about his son’s neck. The three went into the 
house arm in arm, a very happy trio indeed. 
Ray had been watching the scene from the win- 
dow, and when they had entered there was a 
certain moisture about his eyes that looked like 
tears. When they were all seated in the big 
front room, Don spoke: “Mother, I did not 
think you would know me with this beard?” 

“Wall, son, I do wish yer ’d git rid of hit, 
but I ’u’d a-knowed you, no matter how yer was 
changed.” 

“Don, can’t yer tell us whut yer been doin’ 
an whar yer been sence yer been away?” said the 
father?” 

“Yes, I will, father; but let me say before 
I begin that some parts of my experience won’t 


222 


The Call of the Hills 


sound good to you, for I have n’t been the best 
fellow in the land.” And then he told this story 
of his wanderings: 

When he had left that day, about five years 
ago, to go to the postoffice, a sudden desire 
seized him to go to Sullivan. Yielding to it, 
he set out for that place. On arriving there he 
had been loafing about the station when a 
freight train pulled in and stopped. Two men 
climbed out of an empty box car and seated them- 
selves on a pile of railroad ties not far from the 
station. Curiosity had led Don to go to where 
these two men were sitting and engage in con- 
versation with them. He found that they were 
beating their way to Texas, and they invited him 
to accompany them. A few moments later, 
when the train pulled out, three men climbed 
into the empty box car instead of two, and 
Don Watkins was one of them. After much 
tramping and begging they finally landed in 
Texas. Here it was that Don separated him- 
self from his two companions, determined to 
find work. He succeeded in getting a job as a 
clerk in a store in a small, enterprising town in 


223 


The Silver Lining 

the cattle region, and for a few months he did 
very well. One day he met a young man who 
called himself Jack Hartsel, and this new ac- 
quaintance proved his downfall. Don had pre- 
viously learned to gamble, but had decided to 
quit when he arrived in Texas. Hartsel proved 
to be a professional in that line, and showed Don 
that it was an easier way to make a living than 
by honest labor. So persistent in his temptations 
was he that at last Don began to gamble ; just a 
little at first, but in a short time it was every 
evening after working hours were over. Money 
came easily, for it was not long until he had 
learned all the tricks of the profession from' 
Hartsel. He got negligent about his work and 
was finally discharged. Then he went into part- 
nership with Hartsel. All went well. They 
were winning much money and were living in 
grand style until one sad day about seven months 
after Don had landed in that town. One night 
they were playing in a gambling annex to one 
of the saloons in the town and were winning 
heavily, when a stranger entered and was per- 
mitted to take part in the game. They soon 


224 


The Call of the Hills 


found out that he was a master in that line, and 
they tried every trick they knew, but found that 
he could always show a better one. They played 
on desperately until all their money was gone. 
Then Hartsel arose, pulled out a gun, shot the 
gambler, grabbed the money from the table, and 
was gone. Officers rushed into the room and 
arrested Don. The man did not die, for the 
wound was not a serious one; and when Don 
was brought up for trial the man swore that he 
had done the shooting, and as a result of the 
trial he was sentenced to the State prison for a 
term of three years. Hartsel was never heard 
of afterward. When Don had served his time 
he had wandered about from place to place till 
one day out in Kansas in a little place where he 
had stopped to work, he picked up a copy of 
the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and saw the follow- 
ing notice: “Will Donald Watkins, formerly of 
Spring Bluff, Mo., write, giving his present ad- 
dress, as we would like to communicate with 
him on an important matter. Walters and 
Cleave, Attorneys, Union, Mo.” 

Don at once set out to answer the summons 


225 


The Silver Lining 

in person, thinking that his parents were dead, 
or perhaps sick. When he arrived in Union the 
lawyers to whom he went asked him to wait 
until they could send for a man from out in 
the country under whose direction they had 
acted in advertising for him. Then It was that, 
after waiting, he met Ray, who told him all 
about his parents, how much they needed him,* 
and how they had prayed for his return. Don 
had wanted to go out with Ray that very even- 
ing, but the latter thought that he had better 
go first and prepare the old folks for the great 
surprise. “And now,” said Don, turning to Ray 
as he concluded his story, “I feel that some ex- 
planation is due you concerning what took place 
last night between myself and that robber they 
called Sam Carson. That is the man who ruined 
me. That is Jack Hartsel.” 

“Do n’t say ‘ruined,’ Don, for remember 
you are just beginning to live,” said Ray. A 
knock sounded at the front door, and when it 
was opened a boy all out of breath entered. 
“Sandy Rowen air dyin’, an’ he wants ter see 
the teacher,” said the boy. 


15 


226 


The Call of the Hills 


“All right, I ’ll go at once.” And with an 
“I ’ll see you later, Don,” Ray went out at the 
heels of the boy. When he arrived at the store 
he went into the little back room, where he 
found poor Sandy Rowen in a death agony. 
The wounded man looked up into Ray’s face 
as the latter placed his hand gently on the other’s 
head. 

“Wall, teacher, I ’low I ’m done fer; but 
thar ’s one decent thing I ’d like ter do ’fore I 
die, and thet is ter cl’ar yer name. I burnt the 
skeulhouse,” he said, weakly, and was about to 
go on, when Ray interrupted him: 

“Wait, Sandy, till I call some one else in 
to hear that;” and stepping to the door, he 
called to George Nettles, who had been depu- 
tized to guard over the wounded man, and Mr. 
Ware to come into the room. 

“Now say that again, in the presence of 
these two men, Sandy.” 

The dying man repeated the words, “I burnt 
the skeulhouse; but I done hit ’cause Sam Car- 
son tole me ter.” And then he went on, in a 
weak, hurried voice, as if he was afraid his 


227 


The Silver Lining 

strength would give out before he had said all 
he wanted to say. “Yer see, the’ was a gang 
of us, and we had ter do whatever we was tol 
ter do, fer Carson was the leader of the gang. 
He said if I ’ud burn hit down, he ’d see to hit 
thet folks ’ud say thet hit was you thet done 
hit, an’ then we ’d git yer outen this place; so 
I done hit, an’ I ’m sorry. Can yer fergive me, 
teacher, fer causin’ yer all this trouble?” 

“Of course I forgive you, and may God 
also,” replied Ray. 

“Will yer pray thet He will?” pleaded 
Rowen. 

Ray knelt and prayed. 

“Now I feel better, but I got sumpin’ else 
thet I want ter say before I leave. Hit wgts 
our gang thet tied Jake Whiteside ter a tree and 
skeered him so bad thet he went crazy. We 
was dressed like devils and stuck pitchforks at 
him, and threatened ter burn him. Oh, hit was 
mean, I know, ter do sich things, but he was 
alius around the ole mill, an’ thet ’s whar we 
met; so we ’lowed he ’d git us in trouble ef we 
did n’t make him quit cornin’ ’round thar. Hit 


228 


The Call of the Hills 


was me thet shot John Whiteside at the dance 
at Rupert’s. Tell him an’ ast him ter fergive 
me, fer I am so sorry that I done all this mean- 
ness. Oh, can God fergive me of all this ! Hev 
mercy!” he cried out in agony, and then was 
quiet for a moment. The watchers thought he 
was gone, but he rallied and spoke again: 
“Good-bye, I ’m goin’. Hope God won’t be too 
hard on me.” He closed his eyes, drew a long 
breath, and was dead. Ray drew the sheet up 
over his face and turned away from the sad 
sight. 

Mr. Ware took his hand and said, “Mr. 
Jones, I ’low thet cl’ars yer, an’ I ’m shore glad 
of hit, fer I hated ter b’l’eve thet yer burnt 
the skeulhouse.” 

“I ’m sorry that I ever allowed myself to 
think for a moment that you did such a thing,” 
said George, after he had taken the hand that 
the other man had released. 

“That’s all right, gentlemen; I know that 
you had good reasons for thinking as you did, 
and I won’t hold it against you,” replied Ray. 

“I guess I can go home now, for there ’s not 


229 


The Silver Lining 

much danger of Sandy getting away now,” said 
George. “Won’t you go with me, Mr. Jones, 
and help me tell the good news, for I do n’t sup- 
pose there is a home in the whole country that 
will be more pleased to hear that your innocence 
is established than ours.” 

“I don’t know of anything to hinder me; 
so I believe that I ’ll accept your invitation, 
George,” said Ray. 

When the two friends arrived at George’s 
home they found the family gathered in the 
front room, discussing the exciting events that 
had taken place at the store. Dan was just tell- 
ing how Don Watkins looked as Ray and 
George entered, and with one accord the family 
arose to greet them. George told them of Sandy 
Rowen’s dying confession, and concluded by 
saying, “We should all be ashamed of ever en- 
tertaining a doubt as to Mr. Jones’s innocence.” 

“All but Roxy,” added Dan. “Nobody 
could make her believe that he was guilty.” 

Roxy blushed furiously, and Mr. Nettles 
said, “Wall, we air ashamed of it; but I can 
say that I never more ’n half b’l’eved hit.” 


230 


The Call of the Hills 


“I do n’t want you to feel bad about this 
affair, for you all had reason enough to believe 
it. Every circumstance was against me, and I 
was comparatively a stranger among you. But 
now, since the cloud has showed its silver lining 
and my name is cleared from suspicion, I have 
a request to make of you.” Here Ray walked 
over to where Roxy stood, a little apart from 
the others. Taking her hand, he turned to 
the little group and said, “I do n’t want to rob 
you parents of your daughter, nor you brothers 
of your sister, but I would like to hear you say 
that I may join your happy family as Roxy’s 
husband.” 

The father was the first to speak: “Mr. 
Jones, I didn’t know that my gal loved yer 
tel now.” 

“I did,” broke in Dan, with a grin at his 
sister. 

The father laid a hand on the daughter’s 
head and, looking down into her eyes, said, “Do 
yer love him, Roxy?” 

“Yes,” came the answer, softly. 


The Silver Lining 231 

“Then take her, Mr. Jones, fer I know yer 
a true man,” said the father, gently. 

Roxy threw herself into her mother’s arms, 
and as the two shed tears of happiness the girl 
said, “Mother, you were right, for the cloud has 
shown its silver lining.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE DAWN OF BETTER THINGS 

OW ’S trade cornin’ ?” Our old friend 
John Whiteside asked the question as 
he dismounted from Roan before the 
door of the old Spring Creek mill one 
beautiful June morning. He asked the infor- 
mation of a young man who stood in the door- 
way. His clothes were white with meal-dust 
and his black hair had a grayish appearance. 
One would hardly have recognized Don at first 
sight, as he had lost the beard which had half 
concealed his boyish face. From under his dusty 
eyelashes two soft blue eyes looked forth smiling 
at the newcomer, and the voice that made an- 
swer to the inquiry had in it a hearty ring. “Oh, 
trade ’s better than I could expect, John. 
How ’s your wife?” 

“She ’s right peart. When yer seed Mr. 
Jones last?” 



232 


The Dawn of Better Things 233 

“I saw him only yesterday,” replied Don. 

“Come in out of the sun, John, and I ’ll tell 
you all I know about him, for I know you are 
like the rest of us. You are anxious to know 
all about the man who has done so much for 
this community.” 

“Yer jist betcher life I do, fer me an’ Lou 
’low he ’s ’bout the best friend we ever hed,” 
replied John, following Don into the mill. 

A great change had been wrought here since 
Don’s home-coming. The old mill, which had 
been unused for several years save by the gang 
of outlaws as a rendezvous, had been overhauled 
and put in good repair, and was now the scene 
of beneficial activity. Don had announced that 
he would run it, and the old patrons began to 
return to the old place to have their grinding 
done. At first he had only intended to grind 
one day out of each week, but business had in- 
creased so rapidly that it had become necessary 
to grind two and oftentimes three days. 

John sat down on an upturned box while 
Don went to refill the hopper before seating 
himself. As soon as he had done this he came 


234 


The Call of the Hills 


back and seated himself on a pile of sacks in 
front of John and began: “Well, you remember 
the night of the wedding, two weeks ago, he 
was telling us that he did not know about teach- 
ing here again, as his father, who is getting old, 
wanted him and Roxy to go back to Illinois to 
live, and it was hard for him to decide just 
what was his duty in the matter. Well, yester- 
day he and his wife came down to see father 
and mother, and he told us that he had fully 
decided that his work was in these hills, for God 
needs him here and has called him to stay until 
his work is finished. The new schoolhouse will 
be finished before September, and, of course, it 
will be larger and better than the old one. He 
is going around now trying to get the larger 
boys and girls who have quit school because 
they thought that to be able to read, write, and 
figure is enough education, to return to the 
school in the fall and continue their studies. 
Many have promised to return. He also expects 
to start a Bible school on Sundays, with occa- 
sional services for the old folks. He ’s not a 
preacher, but he ’s surely doing a preacher’s 


The Dawn of Better Things 235 

work very successfully. I predict that this will 
work a great change in this place.” 

“Jist look whut he ’s done already,” broke 
in John. “Whut ’d he do fer Lou in the way 
of Famin’ an’ bein’ good, and it was him thet 
led me ter know thet great Friend who never 
goes back on us. Look at our family; all of 
’em better ’cause of him. Even Jake’s mind is 
gittin’ stronger sence he knows thet ornery gang 
of outlaws ihes been sent whar they can’t bother 
him no more. Every chap ’at ’s been under him 
at school is livin’ better an’ causin’ thar folks 
ter live better. Them Ruperts an’ Jeffersons 
an’ Handlans are all better ’n the’ wus ’fore 
he come.” 

“Yes,” said Don, as John paused for a mo- 
ment for breath, “and what has he done for 
me? Brought me home, pointed me to the same 
Friend that you found, who was able to help 
me up when I was down about as far as a man 
could get. All that I am and ever expect to be 
is due to Mr. Jones’s faithfulness in answering 
the call of God through these hills.” 

“Wall, I shore am glad he is goin’ ter stay,” 


236 


The Call of the Hills 


said John, rising from his seat and starting to 
the door, “I must git home an’ tell Lou ’bout 
all this good news. Wonder whar they ’re goin’ 
ter live?” 

“Mr. Nettles and the boys are going to help 
him build a house on that part of the Nettles 
farm that joins on to the school land,” replied 
Don. 

“It ’ll be handy fer him,” said John, as he 
threw his leg over the horse’s back and made 
ready to start. Don was standing in the door 
again. 

“I ’low yer right, Don, when yer say thet 
this ’ll be a different place, fer he hes heard 
the ‘Call of the Hills.’ ” 

Don stood watching the horse and rider 
until they had disappeared around the bend in 
the road, and then he turned and went to the 
box into which the golden meal was pouring and 
began to fill a sack with the yellow hoard. 




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